Upon returning to Sophie's home, I hesitated before speaking,"Sophie, I think I should return to the hotel. I feel somewhat out of place here."

She furrowed her brows at my words, her gaze flickering with impatience."Then leave."

"Sophie," I tried to explain, but it was evident she had no intention of granting me the chance.

"Leave," she repeated coldly, her tone firm and resolute, leaving no room for further discussion.

I quickly retreated to my room, hurriedly packing my things. The clothes and belt she had bought for me were carefully laid out on the bed. The shoes were a lost cause, and the rest of the attire, I could not dare wear outside—so bold, so conspicuous. The awareness of my poverty weighed heavily on me, and I sighed quietly to myself. Once everything was packed, I stepped out of the room, my heart filled with apprehension.

Sophie sat on the sofa, engrossed in her phone, completely indifferent to my presence. I stood at the door, torn by hesitation, for several minutes before gathering enough courage to ask,"Sophie, what time should I pick you up tomorrow?"

She didn't lift her gaze, as though I were invisible. The air around us thickened with awkward silence, and I felt as though I were trapped in an invisible cage, unable to breathe.

At last, she seemed to suppress her frustration and spoke coldly,"What do you think?"

"Perhaps I'll arrive at 6:30," I murmured, my voice soft, fearing to provoke her further. Without waiting for a response, I grabbed my bag and hurried downstairs, my emotions a tangle of complexity.

Upon reaching the hotel, I felt as though I were finally free, no longer burdened by the suffocating tension. The room, though modest, gave me a sense of comfort and peace that I had not felt in a long while. As I lay on the bed, Celeste's image danced before my eyes, stirring the ache in my heart. The pain was raw and sudden, a connection that had scarcely begun before it was abruptly severed. I couldn't help but wonder—had things progressed to marriage, would I have agreed to meet her family as part of their traditional requirements before we could wed?

I supposed I would not have agreed, for my parents still needed my care. This thought weighed heavily on my heart. Restlessly, I tossed and turned, unable to find sleep. Outside, the city lights shimmered like a myriad of stars, their colors seeping through the curtains and casting a fractured glow across the room. Yet, despite the beauty of the night, my heart remained clouded, as if a thick, suffocating fog hung over it, making each breath a struggle.

My thoughts tangled like an unraveled skein of thread, knotting and twisting. I knew the consequences of my refusal—perhaps I would forfeit rare opportunities, perhaps fall into even deeper difficulties. But how could I bear to leave my aging parents, their faces growing frailer with time, their reliance on me and their silent expectations weighing heavily on my conscience? I sighed deeply, staring at the ceiling, my gaze empty and lost.

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The night wore on, yet sleep eluded me. Every time I shifted, the faint creak of the mattress echoed in the silent room. My parents' faces appeared before me, their tireless work, their concern for me, their unwavering love and support.

In the end, through the endless turmoil and anxiety, I endured a long, restless night.

Morning came, and the soft glow of sunlight filtered through the window, gently caressing my face. Suddenly, the shrill ring of my phone pierced the tranquility of the dawn. Groggy and disoriented, I answered, still half-asleep, and heard Sophie's furious voice crackling through the receiver."Where are you?"

I was abruptly awakened by her sharp tone, quickly pulling the phone from my ear and glancing at the time—6:40. A cold weight sank in my chest, and all remnants of sleep vanished in an instant. Flustered, I replied, "I'll be there immediately."

I hurriedly jumped out of bed, fumbling to dress myself, not even bothering to fasten my buttons. Then, I rushed into the bathroom, splashing water hastily on my face and brushing my teeth carelessly, with toothpaste foam scattering everywhere. Once finished, I darted out the door, not even pausing to check if I had everything with me.

On the way, my heart raced with urgency, continually urging myself to hurry. When I finally arrived at her house, the clock read 7:10. Sophie stood at the door, her face shadowed, her eyes radiating anger. She gritted her teeth and said, "Ryan, is this your idea of a promise? You said you would be on time—so what happened?"

I lowered my head, like a child caught in wrongdoing, acutely aware of my guilt, unable to speak a word. Guilt filled my heart, knowing my carelessness had caused her inconvenience and frustration.

She looked at me in silence, and instead of continuing her scolding, she handed me the breakfast she had prepared, her tone softening slightly. "Eat quickly. Then get to work."

I eagerly grabbed the breakfast, devouring it without restraint. Perhaps it was due to my hunger, or my nerves, but I ate with such haste that I paid no mind to my manners.

She furrowed her brow and remarked, "No one's going to take it from you. Why are you eating so fast?"

With my mouth full, I mumbled an incoherent response. Just then, I accidentally choked, the sensation of my throat being blocked left me struggling for breath, my face turning red from the effort.

Seeing this, she quickly handed me some water and gently patted my back. "Look at you, choking over food. Eat slower—no one's going to steal it."

Once I finally managed to catch my breath, I turned to her and sincerely said, "Thank you."

Her face flushed crimson, and she quickly turned away, murmuring softly, "Tonight, you should stay here. Otherwise, you might not wake up in time tomorrow."

"I'll be fine. I'll definitely get up tomorrow," I instinctively refused, thinking I shouldn't burden her further.

"No, you're staying here tonight," she snapped, her voice firm and unyielding, her eyes filled with undeniable resolve.

Seeing the storm brewing in her eyes, I gave in. "Alright."

Satisfied with my surrender, she reached out and playfully twisted my ear. "Feeling wronged now?"

I quickly waved my hand. "Not at all, not at all."

I genuinely couldn't understand this woman. One moment, she was as caring as a lover, considering everything for me, and the next, she was like a tempestuous tigress, prone to sudden outbursts as if everything I did was wrong. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, I could never feel anger toward her. Instead, a feeling that was both complex and ineffable lingered within me.

She released my ear, and after I finished my breakfast, I disposed of the trash and drove to the office with her.

On the road, I stole a few glances at her. She remained focused, her eyes fixed ahead. Sunlight filtered through the car window, casting a soft glow on her face and outlining her delicate features. A ripple of emotion stirred within me. This woman, so elusive and unpredictable, was like a riddle that could not be solved, yet I could never bring myself to approach her too closely.