I stayed in the library to study.

Chandler sent me messages.

"Where are you? When will you be back?"

My phone was on do not disturb mode, so I missed it.

"What would you like to eat tonight? I know a great restaurant, would you like to try it?"

"Yasmine, the lemon tree leaves are turning yellow, what should I do?"

...

I hadn't checked my phone for just one afternoon, yet Chandler had sent me a flurry of messages - more than we had exchanged in all our years together.

I'm always the one initiating conversations. When happy, he might reply with a "hmm", but otherwise, he ignores me.

When did his personality change?

Reluctantly, I headed home only after the library closed.

As soon as I turned on the light, I saw Chandler sitting dazed on the sofa, holding his phone.

"Where are you? I'll come pick you up."

He repeated the message I had just received.

"I was researching and lost track of time. Why aren't you in bed yet?"

I asked, taking off my coat to freshen up in the bathroom.

Leaning against the door, he looked at me with a complicated, unreadable expression.

"Yasmine, I've already apologized for the accident. Regarding today's cake, I'll be more mindful going forward. If you have other concerns, let's sit down and talk them out."

"Relationships thrive on communication, and a cold war won't solve anything."

It dawned on me that he understood effort was needed, yet stubbornly chose a cold war to force my compromise.

I dried my hands, scrutinizing him carefully.

"Chandler, check your phone and see how many times you've actually responded to me."

He turned away embarrassed, then stubbornly asked after a while...

"Is this about Lily? I can explain."

"No, I don't care anymore. Besides, you and she are childhood sweethearts and senior siblings. It's only right you take care of her."

Not wanting to argue further, I gestured toward the withered lemon tree on the balcony.

"It's already dead. There's no saving it. Besides, the lemons were bitter and astringent, not worth keeping."

That lemon tree was like my love.

Once it tried producing many thin-skinned, watery lemons. I soaked and gave them to Chandler.

He was eating oranges fed by Lily, with a look of disgust.

"It's sour and bitter, so unpalatable!"

During my surgery hospital stay, Chandler neglected it.

So it quietly died.

Chandler pursed his lips, guilt flashing in his eyes.

"This weekend is my last tour stop, here in our city. Want to come? I'll get a VIP seat."

I organized study materials from last night.

Hearing this, I didn't look up at him.

"Perhaps it's better if I don't go."

Chandler's a renowned pianist. I once aimed to follow in his footsteps, hoping my efforts would earn his recognition someday.

But he never let me attend his performances, fearing it would affect his career.

Once, oblivious to this, I secretly bought overpriced scalper tickets, traveling thousands of miles to surprise him.

Unexpectedly, his face darkened immediately, and he pretended not to know me.

He even told others I was just an enthusiastic fan.

Now he offered me VIP seats on his tour.

In the past, I would have been overjoyed, jumping three feet high.

Chandler seemed stunned by my refusal and stood there in a daze.

After a while, he seemed to make a decision.

"Yasmine, are you sure you won't come? I wanted to introduce you to everyone."

I had dreamt countless times of him openly acknowledging me in the spotlight.

But now that my dream was about to be realized, I felt no excitement or thrill.

"You know our situation. It's better not to make it official in public."

I declined.

"It's up to you, to go or not!"

Since we've been together, I've never opposed him,

let alone repeatedly reject him as I did tonight.

He was humble enough, but I still couldn't appreciate it.

He slammed the door and left. I calmly organized the documents and thought about returning to work tomorrow.

When I woke up the next morning, I couldn't tell if Chandler had stayed up all night or risen early.

"Are you heading to work today? Your leg isn't great; let me drive you," he offered.

Seeing me up, he stood, appearing awkward and uneasy.

"Yeah, there's a lot to catch up on," I replied.

"No need to bother. It's better not to be seen together," I insisted.

Chandler's place was quite a distance from my workplace. Initially, I used to ask him to drop me off,

but he always cited his celebrity status and hailed taxis instead.

After a few attempts met with no response, I stopped asking.

Deep down, I knew those were just excuses. He had no qualms sending Lily home countless times.

"It's fine. If we're seen together, it might as well be official," he replied.

Gathering my things, I balanced the bag in one hand and leaned on my crutch with the other.

"No need, I've already arranged for a ride," I insisted.

He remained silent but took the bag from me.

"I'll walk you to the car," he said.

I wanted to refuse, but seeing his somber expression, I swallowed my objection.

What was the point of arguing over trivial matters when we were about to part ways?

As we approached the car, the driver, noticing my condition, courteously stepped out and opened the door for me.

"Is this your boyfriend, miss? He seems really caring," the driver remarked.

I smiled at the driver's assumption.

"We're just neighbors. He's lending a hand out of kindness," I clarified.

Chandler froze, staring at me in disbelief.

He always said to keep a low profile when in public.

There was a lot of work to be done, especially the front-line experimental data - a headache.

I worked day and night in the laboratory and slept in the company dormitory at night.

Time passed quickly as I was immersed in the ocean of data, with no time to pay attention to the outside world.

One day at noon, during lunch with colleagues, one of them pointed enviously at a video on her phone.

"Wow, this is so sweet, childhood sweethearts, music couple goals!"

"It's said this pianist once boasted he would personally announce his significant other in ten years. Now at the last tour stop, he openly showed his affection on screen. I'm so jealous."

Out of curiosity, I leaned over to look.

On the screen, Chandler, dressed in a suit and tie, played the last piece sweating. Lily, in a white princess dress, held flowers and threw herself into his arms with tears.

Under the spotlight, the man and woman were a perfect match.

I looked down at my dusty work clothes, then curled my lips and smiled.

My sea of stars is much cooler than your stage.

Lily updated her social media promptly:

"A weary bird knows how to return home. You are my everlasting warm nest."

I smiled and deleted Lily.

Late that night, I received a call from him.

"It's so late. Why aren't you going home?"