"Huh?" Joanna snapped out of it and grinned like an idiot. She trotted over and grabbed his hand. "Let’s buy it! We have to buy it!"
Simon Lockwood turned his head, a hint of a smile touching his lips in the soft light.
In the end, they couldn’t buy a cake. Joanna cradled the bread Simon had bought from the supermarket, pouting as she muttered under her breath, "Will a wish made on bread even co true...?"
"I should have brought one with ," she grumbled in frustration.
Simon said in a low voice, "This is great."
"But how am I supposed to blow out the candles and make a wish..."
Joanna was clearly unsatisfied, her spirits dampened.
It was his birthday, yet Joanna seed to care about it more than he did.
Simon found a lighter in a drawer and flicked it to see if it worked. As Joanna watched in confusion, he switched off the lights.
The room plunged into darkness. Only a sliver of moonlight filtered through the window, casting a faint glow on the floor.
Joanna dazedly took the lighter. Simon’s composed voice sounded softly in the darkness:
"Joanna, light the candle."
’A candle? What candle?’
A large, warm, dry hand covered the back of hers, guiding her to strike the lighter. The small fla illuminated the space between them.
"..."
Half of Simon’s face was bathed in the flickering light, his long eyelashes casting shadows. They were so close their breaths mingled. A heart pounded in the silence—though whose, it was impossible to say.
Joanna clutched her chest dramatically. ’[166, this is the feeling of my heart fluttering.]’
replied snidely, calling her out: ’[You’re just a sucker for a pretty face.]’
’Hehehe~~’
Joanna saw her own reflection in the boy’s usually aloof eyes. In that mont, sothing threatened to break through the surface, but she forcefully pushed it down.
As Simon leaned in closer, he blew out the fla.
But Simon didn’t pull away. He fell silent for a mont before saying hesitantly, "Joanna, I..."
But Joanna suddenly piped up, "Oh, right! Did you make a wish?! You have to make a wish *before* blowing out the candle for it to count, otherwise it’s useless!"
She took a few steps back and fumbled for the light switch in the dark. The sudden brightness dispelled the charged, unspoken intimacy of the mont.
Simon squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, his usual composure had returned. "I forgot."
"How could you forget sothing so important? You..."
"Want so bread?" Simon interrupted her rambling.
"Yes!"
The bread wasn’t large; they split it in half. Simon stared at a crumb at the corner of her mouth for a long mont before averting his gaze. "I’ll take you ho when you’re finished."
Simon glanced at the ti on his phone. It was getting very late, and it wasn’t appropriate for a girl to stay any longer.
Joanna paused, her hand halfway to her mouth. For once, she didn’t try to shalessly extend her stay. "Okay."
"Oh, right!" She rembered sothing and hurried toward the small sofa.
Simon saw her take a kraft paper bag out of her white canvas tote.
As if sensing what was coming, he stood up. Joanna held the kraft paper bag out to him with both hands, looking up with a smile that made her eyes curve into crescents. "Here. Your birthday present."
Simon didn’t take it. Joanna quickly explained, "I didn’t buy it. I made it myself."
Simon knew he should refuse, just as he had refused many gifts from Joanna in the past.
But he took it anyway. It was just like that Christmas, during the first snow of the year, when he had accepted her gift. Inside had been a pair of gloves—crudely stitched and amateurish, with threads already coming loose. They weren’t even warm.
"I’ve never given you a gift."
Simon was referring to her birthdays.
’Good, you know. Guess you have a conscience after all, you jerk.’
Joanna huffed, a little displeased and awkward. "Well, you can just get one in the future, then," she said, trying to sound nonchalant.
’In the future...’
Simon’s fingers tightened around the paper bag, his voice slightly hoarse. "Okay."
He hailed a taxi to take Joanna ho. He watched her walk briskly toward the exclusive neighborhood until she was out of sight before turning away.
He walked back ho.
It was a long way from the beautifully landscaped neighborhood to his old, rundown alley, a distance he could cover on foot.
But the distance between him and Joanna wasn’t one that could be closed on foot.
Simon took a glass jar from his pocket. A beautifully colored rose blood inside, vibrant and dazzling.
It was a dried flower, made with desiccant. Well-preserved like this, it could last a very long ti in the glass jar.
On his eighteenth birthday, he had received a rose unlike any other in the world—one that would never wilt.
But flowers could be deceptive. He didn’t know if he should allow himself to love this one.
The seven-day National Day holiday ended, and the high school seniors fell back into the monotonous grind of their studies.
The first mock exams were just around the corner. The horoom teacher repeatedly drilled into them that the results would be sent directly to their parents.
Even the students who usually slacked off grew nervous, cursing as they scrambled to catch up.
Bad grades were one thing, but public humiliation was another. This was especially true for students from wealthy and powerful families, whose parents cared more about saving face than anything else.
Joanna had not been having a good ti lately. Her parents had made a rare trip ho just to supervise her studies, forcing her to diligently pay attention in class and do her howork for the past few days.
But how much good could last-minute cramming really do? Joanna’s thoughts turned to Simon. He was a brilliant, well-rounded student who had just won first prize in a physics competition, making quite a na for himself. Two top universities had already sent him tentative invitations.
She had just given him a gift, been inside his ho, and spent his birthday with him. As far as she was concerned, their relationship was developing very well—they were practically a real couple.
’Besides, Simon is my boyfriend now,’ she thought. ’It would be a waste not to ask for his help.’
So it was only natural for her to want Simon to tutor her. She could just consider it a different, more wholeso kind of date.
When the teacher wasn’t looking, she secretly tossed a small note over to Simon. It read, "Wanna go to the library together after class?～"
After tossing the note, she watched him with hopeful eyes. Simon didn’t open it until class was almost over. He read it, folded it back up, and didn’t even glance in her direction.
When class ended, Joanna huffed over to his desk. "Why didn’t you reply to my note?"
"I read it," Simon said.
Joanna understood his unspoken aning—’Why reply if I already read it?’—and the anger she felt fizzled out. She could never stay mad at Simon. Exasperated and deflated, she asked, "So... are you going to go?"
Simon pursed his lips. "I have my part-ti job at the coffee shop."
Joanna: "..."
’I need to be an understanding girlfriend,’ she told herself, trying hard to suppress her disappointnt. "Oh..."
"...I can do it on Saturday and Sunday," Simon added.
The light in Joanna’s eyes, which had just dimd, instantly flared back to life. "You don’t have to work on the weekend?"
"I can take the mornings off."
He still had to go in the afternoons.
’Half a day! We could even have lunch together. That’s more than enough!’
When it ca to Simon, Joanna was easy to please. Perhaps because he had refused her so many tis, this one instance of him agreeing made her ecstatic. "Okay! See you tomorrow, then!"
"...Mm."
Anna Yates had signed up for a prep class and hadn’t been walking ho with her lately. Since her family’s driver was on leave, Joanna decided to walk instead of being driven.
On the way, she unexpectedly ran into two people. From a distance, she saw Serena Sutton and Charles Jennings walking side by side.
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