My boyfriend seemed to hold a grudge, wanting to teach me a lesson. Even as I lay there sick, he waited for me to admit I was wrong. That night, my fever shot up to 104 degrees, leaving me utterly miserable. Yet, I overheard him on the phone with a friend. "I did it on purpose. I wanted to teach her a lesson." "She's an adult and still can't look after herself." "There are millions of people in this city caught in the rain; did they all call their boyfriends for help?" I bit my lip as tears streamed down my face, questioning whether he was right. I resolved not to bother him anymore. But there he was, trailing behind me, his demeanor softening. "Could you... just be sweet to me once more?"

On my way to work, the skies opened up, and I got caught in a downpour. Despite having an umbrella, I ended up thoroughly drenched. To top it off, it was also the first day of my period, leaving me at my weakest. When I reached the office, I tried drying myself off while calling my boyfriend. "Otto, could you bring me a change of clothes? I'm soaked and freezing." It would take him about twenty minutes to get to my office. Otto had the day off, so he should have had the time. But his response was calm and detached. "Why didn't you check the weather and bring an umbrella?" "Can't you borrow some clothes from a colleague?" "Ever thought about the fact that I'd get wet too and might catch a cold?" "I had plans for today. Going out would ruin everything." Though there was a trace of concern in his tone, it was mostly criticism.

I turned on my computer, its screen glaring at me and making my eyes water more. I had a mountain of work to handle and no time to argue with Otto. I did have an umbrella, but the fierce winds rendered it useless. I interrupted him, softly pleading, "How about this, can you pack my clothes, and I'll send someone to pick them up?" Despite the terrible weather, there should be someone willing to make the delivery. Otto sighed and said, "I'll bring them myself. I'm just finishing up my morning routine. I'll head over when the rain lets up." With that reassurance, I tried to dry my clothes and hair as much as possible. The spring weather here is damp, making it hard to dry clothes. I hid in the bathroom with a hand dryer for ages but only managed to get them half-dry. Sipping hot coffee, I still shivered with cold, each minute dragging on endlessly.

I estimated that since I called Otto at half-past eight, he'd be here soon. But as the minutes ticked by, there was still no message from him. The torrential rain outside had long stopped. It had been two hours since I'd called Otto. Unable to wait any longer, I phoned him again to ask when he was coming. "I'm on the verge of getting sick. On the first day of my period, catching a chill means terrible cramps." He said he was on his way, just after finishing breakfast. Otto knew how cold I was, knew the intense pain that would leave me writhing. Yet, he spent several hours making breakfast instead? Without thinking, I blurted out, "Breakfast that takes two hours? Didn't I tell you I'm cold? I'm soaked through." My words hung in the silence. Otto always paused before speaking when he was annoyed. Sure enough, after a few seconds, he calmly said, "Yasmin, you can't be so selfish. Just because you're cold doesn't mean I should skip breakfast to deliver clothes to you." His words left me speechless. He was right. My discomfort was my own problem. It had nothing to do with my boyfriend. To him, forty minutes was precious, and eating breakfast was important. At least, more important than me shivering all morning. I stood there, feeling a surge of inexplicable hurt. I wondered if I truly was being unreasonable. But when I was a kid, if it rained, my parents would bring me an umbrella and clothes. They cared about my comfort, why didn't my boyfriend? Holding back tears, I said, "I'll call for delivery then, don't worry about coming." Otto insisted I shouldn’t rush. "I'm almost done, hang in there."

It was noon when I finally saw Otto and received the dry clothes. He was my boyfriend of five years, yet at that moment, he seemed like a stranger. Otto didn't linger, leaving swiftly. Watching his retreating back, so eager to go, my throat tightened. I wasn't sure if it was because of the cold or the heartache. I took the clothes to the bathroom to change, only to bump into a coworker who exclaimed, "Yasmin, your face is really red. Are you feeling sick?" I turned to look in the mirror. Indeed, my cheeks were flushed—a clear sign of sickness. Even my coworker could see it, yet my boyfriend couldn’t. I suddenly felt a wave of disillusionment. I had always believed Otto loved me. Perhaps that was just an illusion.

Despite changing my clothes, my fever kept climbing, and by the time I wrapped up work, I was burning up.

The fever brought relentless cramps in my lower abdomen. A cold combined with menstrual pain left me feeling completely miserable. Forcing myself to get home, I collapsed on my bed and slipped into a deep sleep.

In a hazy, half-dream state, I thought I saw Otto come to my bedside, only to turn and leave. I wanted to call out to him, ask him to make me some honey tea. But I was in too much pain to make a sound.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I finally summoned a bit of energy. Despite my head feeling stuffed like it was filled with cotton and a persistent ache in my abdomen, I dragged myself to the bathroom. I paused at the door.

I didn't make a sound.

Otto's nonchalant voice drifted through the gap in the door. It sounded like he was on the phone with someone.

"Yeah, I did it on purpose. I wanted to teach her a lesson," he said, casually. "Otherwise, she takes everything for granted and expects me to handle it all. You know how exhausting that is for me?"

"In a city full of people, who else makes such a fuss?"

Because of the fever, my head throbbed relentlessly. It took me a moment to process his words, but when I did, each one felt like a stab to the heart.

I had always believed Otto was endlessly accommodating to me. It never occurred to me that he harbored such grievances.

Dazed and weak, I nearly stumbled. Holding onto the wall for support, the whole room seemed to spin around me. Through blurred, tear-filled eyes, I heard Otto let out a dismissive chuckle. He said indifferently, "If she's cold, let her be. Worst case, she'll catch a fever."

"Take some medicine, sleep it off, and she'll be fine."

His tone was so breezy, so unconcerned.

I clenched my teeth to keep from sobbing aloud. Devastated and bewildered, I realized my boyfriend had known all along that I would fall ill. But he wasn't worried—because this was part of his plan.

He deliberately let time drag on, watching indifferently as I got sick, just to teach me to be strong, to be independent, to stop relying on him for everything.

I couldn't understand why Otto would do such a thing. If he wanted to refuse my requests, he could have simply said no. I even offered to hire a delivery service to spare him the trouble.

But he agreed, only to use it as an opportunity to give me a "lesson."

I knew I lacked self-sufficiency. My parents spoiled me growing up; they never even let me wash a single dish. So in my first year after college, I was learning all the skills of living from scratch.

My parents were miles away, worried that I might be careless. But I always reassured them, "Don't worry, I have Otto. We'll take care of each other."

And so, they were at ease.

Otto was three years older than me and always seemed more composed. I had told my friends, my parents, even strangers I met by chance, that I had a wonderful boyfriend—smart and a great student.

I never imagined Otto would find me bothersome.

But he clearly had grown tired of me.

When did it start?

I tried to recall, but the more I thought about it, the more tears flowed uncontrollably from my eyes. Countless small incidents rushed back from the depths of my memory.

Perhaps it was the third time I forgot my house keys, and Otto happened to be on a business trip. Though I had called a locksmith and managed to get inside, when I told Otto about it, he seemed slightly annoyed.

"How can you forget every time? Who forgets their keys three times?"

Knowing I was at fault, I didn’t argue. Yet his blunt criticism stung. From then on, I left a spare key at the office.

Or maybe it was when my backpack zipper broke, and I was too busy studying to fix it. Until one day, my wallet went missing.

I cried as I worked to replace my cards but lamented the loss of the photo of us.

"That was a picture from when we first started dating. It's such a shame it's gone," I sighed to Otto.

Without lifting his head, he said, "Well, isn't that your fault for procrastinating? Remember, if something's broken, fix it promptly."

It was a bright, sunny afternoon. Otto and I walked down the street, one behind the other. Our shadows lay close together in the sun, but I felt our hearts were miles apart.

I didn’t understand why he was always criticizing me. Maybe I really wasn’t good enough. But I was trying, honestly.

I didn’t know, and couldn’t have known, that at that moment, my boyfriend was already muttering to himself...

“She’s so troublesome.”

“I’m going to teach her a lesson.”

“She can’t expect me to handle everything.”