Chapter 64: She Should Sincerely Wish Her Well

Shen Jia Yan moved forward mechanically, as if all her strength had been drained away, leaving only her body’s instincts to keep her going.

The night wind blew even colder, fluttering the hem of her trench coat lightly, but it could no longer block the chill in her heart.

Streetlights passed by her one after another, their lights and shadows intersecting. Her shadow stretched long on the ground, lonely and swaying, as if grieving for her too.

She didn’t know how long she walked before she noticed the lights around her growing sparse and the sounds fading away.

She could still occasionally hear distant laughter and the rustle of leaves in the wind before, but now it was as if they had been cruelly stripped away, leaving only a deep, suffocating silence.

Her footsteps slowed as she realized she had walked too far.

Too far— so far that the teaching buildings, dormitory buildings, and benches under the streetlights had all become blurred backdrops.

She stood on a secluded path, surrounded by tall tree shadows. Sparse light filtered through the intertwined branches and leaves, but it couldn’t illuminate her heart.

She didn’t walk any further. Instead, she stopped, leaned against a tree trunk, and slowly slid down to sit on the ground.

She hugged her knees with both hands and buried her face in the crook of her arm, trying to curl herself into the smallest shape possible so that the pain wouldn’t overflow from her eyes.

She couldn’t hold it back.

Tears surged out suddenly.

She didn’t struggle or try to comfort herself.

She simply let her emotions burst forth like a dam breaking—a storm that had been brewing for far too long finally pouring down.

She cried, sobbing uncontrollably.

She recalled every word Wen Wan Ning had said earlier, each one etched into her heart, clear and sharp.

“I only see you as a good friend.”

“I have a boy I like.”

“Jia Yan…”

That “Jia Yan” was so gentle it made her heart ache.

Hadn’t they agreed to give her time? Hadn’t they agreed to go see Grandma’s tulips together? Hadn’t they agreed…

But now, all those “agreements” had become her solitary obsession.

It was all her own wishful thinking.

She hadn’t lost to anyone; she had lost to Wen Wan Ning’s heart.

She had liked her so earnestly, guarded her so carefully, and tried so hard to become someone she could love.

But in Wen Wan Ning’s heart, there might never have been a place for her.

She wasn’t her heartbeat, her answer, or the person she wanted to approach on her own.

She was just an excuse for “not wanting to hurt too deeply,” a reason for “finding it hard to refuse outright.”

Shen Jia Yan buried her face deeper, her tears silently soaking her sleeves.

She had considered the possibility of rejection and tried to prepare herself mentally.

But when she truly heard “I don’t like you,” she realized she couldn’t bear it at all.

She realized she couldn’t let go.

She realized her love for her was far deeper than she had imagined.

※

An hour later, Shen Jia Yan returned to Jingbei Media University like a walking corpse.

She kept her head down, her steps hollow as she shuffled forward, as if she had just woken from a long dream. The tenderness in the dream had shattered into fragments on the ground, and she didn’t even have the courage to pick them up.

Just as she reached the school gate, her phone rang abruptly from her pocket.

She slowly pulled out her phone. The name flashing on the screen was Xu Jingyao.

She pressed the answer button, her tone very soft.

“Hello.”

“Jia Yan, where are you?” On the other end, Xu Jingyao asked tentatively in a gentle voice, laced with careful concern. “Wan Ning just messaged me, asking if you’ve returned to the dorm… How did it go between you two?”

Originally, she, Fu Jinxi, and Zhang Min had been in the dorm speculating whether Shen Jia Yan would come back tonight. They hadn’t even considered the possibility of the confession failing. But when she received Wen Wan Ning’s message, a bad premonition suddenly surged in her heart.

Shen Jia Yan stood at the school gate, listening to the familiar voice on the phone. It was as if she had finally found an outlet to release the flood.

She didn’t speak, just let out a soft “Mm.”

But that single “Mm” instantly made Xu Jingyao on the other end understand everything.

She was silent for a few seconds, then her voice softened. “Are… you okay?”

Shen Jia Yan looked up at the sparse starlight in the night sky, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. “I’m fine,” she said softly, her voice calm as if she were telling someone else’s story.

But she knew her heart had already shattered.

Xu Jingyao didn’t ask further. “Then come back to the dorm first. We’re waiting for you here.”

Shen Jia Yan nodded, even though she knew Xu Jingyao couldn’t see it.

After hanging up, she stood in place, dazed for a few more seconds.

Then, she slowly started walking toward the dormitory building.

Pushing open the door to Dorm 406, the three of them stood inside, staring at her in a daze.

Warm light spilled onto their faces, reflecting the complex emotions there—worry, heartache…

Shen Jia Yan sighed, forcing a slight curve at the corners of her mouth. “What’s with you all? Is this some kind of formal welcoming ceremony?”

Xu Jingyao stepped forward and gently patted her shoulder, her voice soft as if afraid to disturb the fragile calm on the surface. “Jia Yan…”

“Hey.” Shen Jia Yan waved her hand as if nothing had happened, deliberately lightening her tone. “What’s going on? Why is the atmosphere in our dorm so heavy?”

As she spoke, she casually draped her coat over the back of a chair and sat down like usual, her movements so natural as if nothing had happened tonight.

But she didn’t know—her smile was too forced, her eyes too red, her voice too soft, her silence too heavy.

Fu Jinxi bit her lip and finally couldn’t hold back. “How… did it go between you two?”

Shen Jia Yan lowered her head and tugged at her wind-tousled sleeve, chuckling softly. “Sorry, looks like I won’t be treating you all to a meal anytime soon.”

She paused, her voice dropping so low it was almost inaudible. “She… probably doesn’t have any feelings for me.”

She didn’t mention Wen Wan Ning’s words about “having a boy she liked.” She didn’t want others to misunderstand her, didn’t want them to think she was brushing her off or taking advantage of her kindness, and didn’t want this relationship to turn into a judgment of “who was right or wrong.”

She could accept that she didn’t like her, but she couldn’t accept others looking at her with strange eyes, nor could she bear turning her into a “betrayer.”

The air in the room froze instantly.

Zhang Min opened her mouth, wanting to say something comforting, but no words came out.

She stood beside Shen Jia Yan, looking at her downcast eyes and the smile at the corner of her mouth. That wasn’t relief—it was “dignity” after hiding all her grievances and pain deep in her bones.

Shen Jia Yan looked up at their shocked and heartbroken expressions and smiled, though it looked worse than crying. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine.” She paused, as if confirming she could truly say this calmly.

“She just doesn’t like me. We were never together, so it doesn’t even count as a breakup.”

She said it lightly, as if it were the most ordinary regret, not someone she had spent her entire youth loving without reciprocation.

But the more casually she put it, the more audible the dull pain hidden in her voice became.

That pain wasn’t a heart-wrenching breakdown; it was a chill slowly seeping into her bones.

She had loved, loved too earnestly. She had tried, tried with everything she had.

But in the end, she couldn’t earn a single “I like you too.”

Xu Jingyao squatted down and gently hugged her, saying nothing.

Shen Jia Yan didn’t struggle or cry out loud. She just leaned on her shoulder, closed her eyes, and slightly dropped the facade of “I’m fine.”

She whispered, her voice barely audible, “I’m just… a bit tired. Not because she doesn’t like me, but because I like her too much. So much that I even want to accept that she doesn’t like me properly, without making things hard for her.”

At this point, she finally couldn’t hold back. Tears spilled from her eyes, and she choked up, barely able to speak. “But… I’m still so sad.”

She kept her head down, her voice trembling. “I liked her so hard, so why wasn’t it enough? Why, when I like her so much, doesn’t she like me back?”

She finally cried out loud, tears splashing onto her clothes one by one. All her tenderness, all her expectations, all her desperate love—shattered silently by reality.

She understood that liking someone didn’t guarantee reciprocation. She knew that loving someone didn’t mean they had to respond.

But when she gave all her tenderness, all her expectations, all her courage to one person and couldn’t get a “I like you too” in return, she couldn’t help asking herself: Was I not good enough? Where did I fall short? If I’d tried just a little harder, gotten a little closer, would she have turned back?

She wasn’t unwilling; she just hurt too much.

Xu Jingyao hugged her tightly, heartache in her voice. “Jia Yan, you’ve already done so well. You’re not wrong, and your feelings aren’t wrong. Wan Ning…” She thought for a moment and continued, “Her not liking you isn’t wrong either.”

“It’s just that some people might really not end up together. But you deserve to be loved properly, to be responded to, to have a love where you run toward each other.”

She gently stroked her back again and again.

Shen Jia Yan leaned in her arms, tears sliding silently down, drop by drop, onto her shoulder.

She finally allowed herself to be sad, vulnerable, resentful, heartbroken.

She had fantasized countless times about the confession scene—imagined her smiling in response, them holding hands through the seasons and storms. But reality didn’t give her a fairy-tale ending.

The person she liked didn’t like her back. It wasn’t her fault, or anyone’s fault; fate just didn’t give them a happy conclusion.

She finally understood: some loves were destined to be one-way journeys, some people could only be kept in the softest corner of the heart, watched from afar, cherished quietly.

She closed her eyes and let the tears fall, as if to cry out all her emotions until they were drained dry.

All the grievances, expectations, and disappointments of today should end today.

She should let go.

Perhaps, for Wan Ning, not walking this path with her was the better choice for her life. She deserved a brighter, broader future…

She should sincerely wish her happiness.