4
I didn’t see Julian’s expression. Because I was too busy admiring the sunflowers in the backyard.
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4:34 pm DDDD
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It wasn’t until he stumbled away, clutching his phone, his retreating figure radiating utter defeat, that
I spared him a glance.
I should have known we weren’t right for each other. What he needed was a love that was spoken, over and over again. But I couldn’t speak; I could only express my affection clumsily.
Once I learned the meaning of sunflowers, I bought a huge bag of seeds and planted them in the backyard. Julian never paid attention to the little things around him.
But all those small bursts of color? They were all from me. Like the cute animal throw pillows on the black sofa, or the colorful sticky notes scattered everywhere.
He started from nothing, busy with social engagements, closing deals, staying out all night. So I faded into the background, cooking for him, holding an umbrella over his head in the rain. I was with Julian as he climbed the ladder of success, but once he achieved fame and fortune, our relationship lost its sincerity.
When we were at our poorest, we huddled together in a tiny rental, sharing cheap burgers, talking about our grand ambitions. Julian always confided in me, talking about his stress, his plans, his barely
concealed ambition.
I don’t know when our relationship started to sour, or when Julian became ill.
Perhaps it was during college, when we were in a long–distance relationship and stopped seeing each other. Julian gradually stopped messaging, and I was the only one who persistently kept in touch.
Worried about him, I bought a ticket and rushed over, only to find him completely drunk. Julian hated showing his weaknesses to others, so when he saw me, he instinctively tried to hide. I tried to help him up, but he flung me away, his voice harsh:
“What are you doing here? Do you pity me too? Do you think I’ll never succeed, that I’m destined for nothing?”
It was the first time I’d ever seen him like that. I nervously pulled out my phone to type, wanting to comfort him like I always did. But Julian snatched it away.
His eyes were red, and he looked at me with deep disappointment. All I could do was grab his hand and write, letter by painful letter. I wanted to say, *Julian, I love you because of who you are. I love every part of you.*
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But he didn’t believe me. And for the first time, he scoffed at my helplessness right in front of me: “Why can’t you just speak? Do you really love me? Or do you just latch onto anyone who shows you a
little kindness?”
I couldn’t stop the tears from welling up, but I knew I couldn’t cry. Julian was just tired; I couldn’t burden him with my negative emotions. I remembered the sticky notes I always carried with me. In the dim light, I wrote, trembling, word by painful word. I made sure my handwriting was large and clear so he could read it easily.
“Julian, I only love you. Only you, because you are Julian.”
“I’ve never felt my life was hard, and I’ve never thought you were anything less. All I want is to be with you.”
But that note ended up on the ground, trampled under Julian’s foot, just like my heart. He didn’t look
at me again, his voice cold, his face utterly blank.
“Did I make your life hard? Harper, you’ve only ever been a burden to me.”
