It was the morning of the second day of Christmas when I was jolted awake by the sound of people chatting and cracking nuts.

Without opening my eyes, I instinctively stretched my legs and let out a yawn from the warmth of my bed.

"Oh, Phoebe is awake!"

That unfamiliar yet familiarly loud voice of an elder immediately dragged me back to reality.

The reality was that my mom had once again invited a bunch of relatives into my room before I was even fully awake.

But something felt off—our usual guest, Mrs. Hansom, wasn't among them.

Ever since I graduated from college, I'd seen her at our house every year after Christmas.

I sometimes suspected my parents had some sort of subscription with her, determined to find me the perfect match.

Could she be managing things remotely this time?

I opened one eye and quickly scanned the room before burying my head back under the covers.

Wait a minute!

I thought—just maybe—I saw a handsome guy sitting at the desk next to my bed.

No way! Could Mrs. Hansom's taste have improved this much?

I stealthily created a small peephole in my blanket to sneak a look.

No, it couldn't be. Judging by Mrs. Hansom's track record with blind dates, there was no way someone this good-looking would show up.

The guy was sitting sideways, lost in thought. His profile was sharp and clean, with fair skin.

A pair of black half-rimmed glasses rested on his high nose bridge, and a few strands of hair fell across his forehead. Through the glasses, I could see his eyelashes slightly trembling.

It seemed like he had thought of something amusing because his tightly-pressed lips curved into a slight smile, softening his otherwise cool demeanor.

His Adam's apple moved slightly, and my heart embarrassingly fluttered.

Wow!

As if sensing my gaze, the handsome guy tilted his head toward my direction, his clear eyes filled with a touch of curiosity.

The familiar, almost sculpted features sent a shock through me.

Wasn't this the same guy, my crush, I'd run into at the grocery store a few days ago?

Even though I quickly retracted his photo from our family group chat, my mischievous younger brother had already saved it and shown it to my parents.

Mrs. Hansom, you heartless woman! To meet your quota, you even included a high school kid?

Honestly, what were kids eating these days? How did they grow so tall, and how was it possible for someone to look even better without a mask? Just one look at those lips, and I know they'd be perfect for kissing.

But alas, I couldn't love you—it was against the law.

Okay, I was wrong.

This wasn't a blind date. It was just a family visit; a distant relative visited my home.

"Phoebe, I'm about to start making soup, but I forgot to buy some pork ribs. Go out and buy two pounds, will you?"

My mom's voice called out from the kitchen as I was preparing some tangerines for the guests.

Out of habit, I shouted back toward the living room.

"Alex—"

"Don't even try it, Mom was calling you!"

I grumbled and dragged my feet, but the next moment, Mom appeared in front of me, holding a spatula like a weapon.

"Get going! Larry brought his bike, so let him take you. You'll be back in a few minutes."

Larry, who was peeling a tangerine on the couch, smiled obediently when he heard his name.

"Sure, Mrs. Steele."

"I'm coming too, if Larry's going!"

Alex, who was absorbed in a game on my phone, suddenly chimed in, raising his hand eagerly. My forehead throbbed—how did middle schoolers bond so easily?

Of course, Mom coolly rejected Alexander's offer.

"Let's go, Phoebe," Larry said, flashing me a sweet smile.

But as soon as we stepped out the door, his demeanor changed into one of indifference.

Hmm, I got it—teenage rebellion, two different personalities.

The elevator door opened, and Larry held out his arm to stop it, gesturing for me to enter first with a nod.

Our reflections in the mirror showed us standing in opposite corners of the elevator, and the atmosphere was a bit awkward.

Larry's tall frame was even more pronounced, despite the oversized black puffer jacket he wore, which only made him look leaner.

His collar was open, revealing just a white t-shirt underneath, and his long, pale neck with collarbones.

He had put on a mask again, adding a bit of aloofness to his already cold features, but he still exuded a youthful charm.

If I had met him back in high school, I would've had a crush on him for sure.

"So, Larry, how's your homework going? What's your class ranking this year?" I asked, trying to break the ice after much consideration.

Larry frowned slightly and gave me a brief glance.

"Phoebe, you're at Wessex University, right? The second year of your master's, if I recall."

He drew out the last word with a lazy tone.

"So, what are your plans—government exams or an internship? How's your thesis coming along? What about after graduation? Still no boyfriend, huh—"

"Cut it out!"

I kept smiling on the outside, but in my mind, I was already imagining wringing Larry's neck.

Once outside the apartment complex, I followed Larry's gaze and instinctively sat on the back seat of an electro-mobile.

"Wrong one."

Just as I sat down, Larry grabbed the back of my collar and lifted me off.

He then led me to a sleek, impressive motorcycle parked nearby.

I pointed at the massive beast, then back at Larry.

"Seriously, kid? Are you guys riding these things now? Do you even know the consequences of riding without a license?"

Larry ignored me and handed me a pink helmet.

Holding the heavy helmet, I felt a headache coming on—why did I have this sudden premonition that I'd die young at twenty-four?

"Don't know how to put it on?"

Larry raised an eyebrow and, after a brief glance at me, took the helmet from my hands.

He leaned down, gently tucking my hair behind my ear before carefully placing the helmet on my head and fastening the buckle.

Larry's eyes were clear, like they held tiny specks of light.

The cool scent of youth surrounded me, and I felt my face inexplicably grow warm.

"Why are you blushing?"

A teasing voice came from above as I felt a flick on my forehead.

Maybe out of consideration for me, Larry didn't drive too fast, but I still couldn't help feeling a bit anxious.

My hands clung tightly to his jacket as I nervously asked, "Does your mom know you ride this thing?"

"Your mom knows, so what do you think?" Larry replied with a shrug.

For some reason, I could never come up with a good response to Larry's comments. Maybe this was what they called a generation gap.

After we successfully packed the pork ribs and were about to check out, I realized my phone had died and I didn't bring any cash.

Alexander must have been too engrossed in playing games on my phone to remember to charge it!

I glanced over at Larry, hoping he could help.

He simply shrugged and said, "Don't look at me, I was in a rush and forgot my phone."

I narrowed my eyes at him, suspicious. I grabbed his left hand and pulled up his sleeve, only to find his wrist bare.

I was completely puzzled.

"Don't you have a smartwatch, the one for kid?"

Now it was Larry's turn to look confused.

"A what?"

As I was scratching my head, wondering what to do, a familiar figure appeared at the next register.

Of course, during the holidays back home, you're either going to run into an ex or an old classmate.

Nelson Thompson, my old classmate, and the guy I had secretly crushed on for three years in high school.

"Phoebe Steele!"

He had just finished paying and was walking toward me with a shopping bag in hand.

I quickly let go of Larry's hand and flashed Nelson a sweet smile, but my smile froze as I noticed someone trailing behind him—a girl I knew all too well.

It was Irene Toland, another high school classmate.

Irene was the girl who led the entire class in ostracizing me shortly after freshman year started, all because they thought my voice was "too innocent," and they accused me of pretending to be something I wasn't.

Even after all these years, my voice hadn't changed, but Irene had transformed from a schoolyard bully to a soft-spoken, gentle woman.

At this moment, Irene was holding onto Nelson's arm and greeted me with a smile.

"Phoebe, it really is you! Nelson thought he might've been mistaken."

Her smile was warm and friendly, as if we were old friends.

But I couldn't stop the flood of memories from high school that came rushing back.

I remembered how, during our first year, Irene had led a group of girls from other classes to corner me in the dormitory. They had heard rumors that there was a "fake innocent" girl in our class who had all the boys talking to her and even had the teachers favoring her because of her good grades.

So, they wanted to "see for themselves."

They didn't do anything too outrageous—just touched my face, tugged at my hair, mocked my clothes, and mimicked my voice in a sarcastic tone.

But to someone who had just moved away from home and was living at school for the first time, it was terrifying.

I couldn't move, couldn't cry; all I could do was tremble uncontrollably.

Just like now, my hands wouldn't stop shaking.

The next moment, a warm, strong hand enveloped mine.

I looked up at Larry in confusion.

His calm eyes met mine as he spoke softly, "Let's head home. Your mom's waiting for us."

"Larry Harrison!"

Before I could respond, Irene's voice cut through the tension.

She gasped in astonishment. "Larry Harrison! Is that really you? From class eleven? You—"

"Are you two going to pay for those ribs or what?"

The cashier's impatient voice rang out behind us.

"Credit," Larry replied coldly, shooting Irene a frosty glance before pulling out his card and completing the transaction.

Then, without another word, he tugged me away from the scene.

The whole way back, my mind was a whirl of thoughts, piecing together Irene's words.

Class eleven... Larry Harrison from class eleven...

Suddenly, a memory surfaced—a love letter from class eleven.

I slapped Larry's shoulder in surprise.

"Wait, you're the Larry Harrison from class eleven? The one who was always getting in trouble for fights?"

Larry came to an abrupt stop, causing me to bump into his back.

"Took you long enough to remember, Miss Perfect from class one, always top of the charts."

He chuckled derisively.

My heart sank a little as I nervously asked, "So, does that mean... you wrote me a—"

"Phoebe!"

The elevator doors opened just as Alexander dashed out, whispering urgently, "Code red! Mrs. Hansom's here with another guy.

"He's a doctor this time, pretty handsome, almost on par with Larry."

He sneaked a glance at Larry, who furrowed his brow and looked down at me.

"Phoebe, do the potential sons-in-law at your place have to compete for the spot or something?"

As soon as I stepped through the door, I saw Jamie Brown. He was my therapist back when I was studying in Miran City, the one I used to visit regularly.

I knew we were from the same hometown, but I never imagined we'd end up being set up for a date.

Jamie was strong and refined, the kind of man who exuded a quiet elegance. In the clinic, he always wore impeccably tailored dark suits, with gold-rimmed glasses and neatly styled hair.

Today, though, he was in a simple, solid-colored sweater, making him seem much warmer and approachable.

It suddenly hit me—Larry was still behind me. When he showed up at my house this morning, he had that same scholarly, gentle demeanor. But the moment I realized he was the same high school bully who broke eight ribs in one swift kick, every unpleasant memory from those years came rushing back.

I couldn't figure out how our family was even remotely connected to his.

"Phoebe, this is Jamie. He's a therapist who had his own practice in Miran!"

Mrs. Hansom called out as soon as she saw me, waving me over.

"He's thinking about moving back here, so you two should really get to know each other."

Jamie recognized me, his eyes crinkling in a warm smile as he opened his mouth to greet me. But I quickly shot him a series of exaggerated winks.

"Dr. Brown, nice to meet you," I said, trying to divert any mention of our past connection.

I didn't want my family to know I regularly saw a therapist, or that ever since high school, I'd been suffering from severe insomnia, reliant on specially prescribed medication just to get a few hours of sleep.

Jamie winked back and gave a slight nod, his lips curling into a knowing smile.

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Steele."

Larry, however, didn't miss our little exchange. He sneered, leaning in close enough that only I could hear him, his voice dripping with mockery as he echoed, "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Steele."

"What's your problem, Larry?" I threatened, raising a fist as if to punch him.

Larry immediately raised the bag with the pork ribs, blocking my view of Jamie.

"And who might this be?" Jamie asked politely.

I was scrambling for an answer when Larry coolly put down the bag, met Jamie's gaze, and introduced himself.

"Larry Harrison, Phoebe's number one date."

He shot me a glance, a hint of resentment in his tone, then raised an eyebrow at Jamie, his expression tinged with a subtle challenge.

"Phoebe, how could you? Your father promised me that today was for Jamie to have dinner and meet the family. How could you schedule someone else—"

Mrs. Hansom's face clouded over with displeasure. Before she could go on, my mom rushed out of the kitchen, trying to smooth things over. "Oh, Larry's just my godson! He's here on behalf of his mother to celebrate Christmas with us."

"God—son?"

I was flabbergasted, as was Larry.

My mom pulled me aside and whispered, "I had no idea your dad planned to introduce Jamie today. He didn't tell me a thing before he left."

"I don't know how your dad told Mrs. Hansom to bring Jamie here today. He didn't tell me before he left."

"Wait, Mom, didn't you say he was just visiting as a family friend?"

She wiped her hands on her apron, her eyes suddenly lighting up.

"You took pictures of him, remember? I knew you'd be shy to date him.

"It's okay. Two dates at once. The odds of success are higher that way."

I could never quite understand how my parents could, on one hand, make me feel so inadequate, and on the other, have such unrealistic expectations.

After pacifying everyone, my mom went back to the kitchen, but not before giving me a meaningful look as she closed the door.

I knew what she meant, but I didn't want to acknowledge it.

Mrs. Hansom received a call and had to leave, leaving just the four of us in the living room. I was squeezed between Larry and Jamie, feeling utterly trapped.

"Well, Mr. Harrison, it seems I'm now number one," Jamie said with a smile, sipping from his glass.

I nearly choked on the tangerine I was eating. Larry, noticing, quickly handed me a glass of water.

"Don't be so sure."

"Pardon?" Jamie blinked, clearly not expecting that response.

Larry clicked his tongue, his tone leisurely.

"You wouldn't understand unless someone had secretly taken photos of you.

"Right, Phoebe?"

This time, I really did choke on my water. I shot up from the couch, waving my hand frantically.

"Mom! I'll help you in the kitchen!"