19 Chapter 19: Resolve

"Well, here we are . . . See you when I see you."

"Wait!"

I seized his shirt when he was about to run towards Artem towering gates.

Now that the breeze and the walks made me somewhat sober –– I wanted to know his answer.

"You did not reply. Why not me?"

My voice was at the edge of dominance and arrogance, demanding a satisfactory answer from him.

Crying and letting the negative emotions poured out of my system worked wonders.

Lance looked at me before he heaved a heavy sigh.

"Em . . . I just . . . I just don't like you that way . . . I'm sorry."

. . .

. . .

I don't like you . . .

I don't like you . . .

My hands quivered. Strength was draining from me, and I released his shirt, which he took the opportunity to go inside the university.

My eyes followed him until I could no longer see even his shadow.

I knew he did not like me. But hearing it from his mouth hurts –– it hurts a lot!

. . .

. . .

The next thing I knew, I was sitting on a bench under an oak tree in a park near the school.

"What is the matter, dear?"

I did not spare a glance at the old woman beside me, who was busy feeding breadcrumbs to the birds.

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"I got . . . rejected . . ."

"Hmmm . . . Do you love him?"

"Yes . . . but he does not love me . . ."

I smiled bitterly. Tears welled at the bottom of my eyes. Honestly, I was not this weak. I could count the times I cried in one hand since I developed my brain.

"So?"

The old woman's nonchalant tone made my head snapped at her.

Then I blinked. Beside me was a granny with white hair that was tightly raised in a tight bun. She was hunch and plump. Her face was covered in wrinkles, and her eyes were all squinty.

All cute and lovable.

But what caught my attention was a beautiful, stunning brooch with an intricate letter 'J ' carved from a rare stone.

"I . . . cannot trouble him . . . He . . . he already likes someone else . . ." My voice cracked as my tears fell.

"And?"

My brows twitched, and my tone snapped. "And . . . I cannot force my feelings on him. He does not like me," I said with an edge to my tone.

". . ."

Infatuated?

I did not know . . . I never fell in love with someone before or even like someone that was not a family or a friend.

Maybe I was really just infatuated with him, and his rejection only challenged me. That was why I could not accept it?

My heart slammed against my chest, refusing my way of thought.

As I was lost in my internal struggles, the old lady continued, "If you love him, you will continue to love him without waiting for anything in return."

"But . . . he will hate me if I force my feelings on him," I said, sighing in helplessness.

"Showing your love openly is not the only way to love him, you know."

I look at her with questioning eyes when she spoke in riddles.

"You can also love him by supporting and helping him from the side," she said and laugh.

I blinked, wiping away the tears in my eyes as I smiled in mockery. "You want me to watch over him while he loves someone else?"

Even the idea pained me.

"You cannot?" The old woman grabbed her cane as she stood to her shaky legs.

"Ah . . . , youngsters these days. Just a little pain, and they will back away. That just shows the extent of your love."

". . ."

"I wish I can go back in time when I was your age and made that decision . . ." The old woman glanced over the sky as she murmured, "Then maybe I was happy even if I was hurt . . ."

She then walked away.

My eyes must have played tricks on me for I saw smoke and . . .

Fog?

Fog in summer?

When everything cleared, the old woman was gone.

I should have been scared, but I did not believe in ghosts. And I have many emotions fighting inside me at the moment that it did not have any room for fear for the supernatural.

Is this it?

I could sense this was the major fork in my life. Whatever decision I make now will seal my fate.

Should I give up?

Is that the extent of your love?

. . .

. . .

I wanted to continue loving and supporting him.

. . .

. . .

I took a sharp intake of air and gradually released it from my mouth.

Be ready me . . .