Forever With You

The early autumn breeze carried a chill. I stood outside the electric scooter shop, clutching the crumpled bank card in my pocket. The plastic card was damp from the sweat on my palm, its edges worn until my fingertips ached — this card held three full months of my savings, money I'd scrimped by eating cold buns at lunch and enduring two 40-minute bus rides every day. I lifted my hand to smooth down the hair messed up by the wind, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Dylan Collins always said his family wasn't well-off, and that his daily subway commute took over two hours each way. Every time he said that, the exhaustion in his eyes made my heart ache. Today, I was finally going to surprise him. "Sir, about that white electric scooter I looked at yesterday, could you help me install the battery?" I walked up to the counter, my voice full of anticipation. The boss replied, "Got it," then turned to get the stock from the warehouse. I took out my cell phone, unlocking the screen with a smile, ready to message Dylan Collins about this long-prepared gift. But just as my finger touched the input box, a strange update suddenly popped up in my Moments—it was shared by a college classmate, captioned: "High-society gala, Mr. Collins stuns with his female companion." The background of the photo is a lavish ballroom, with chandeliers casting dazzling light. The man in the center of the frame is wearing a perfectly tailored haute couture suit, a luxury watch on his wrist that I had never seen before, leaning down to hold a woman in a red dress. That side profile, the curve at the corner of his eyes when he smiled—it was clearly Dylan Collins. With a sharp 'slam,' the cell phone slipped from my hand and slammed onto the concrete floor. The screen instantly cracked into a spiderweb pattern, just like my heart at this moment—completely shattered. "What's wrong, girl?" The owner came out holding the battery and saw me frozen in place. He quickly bent down, picked up the cell phone, and handed it to me. I didn't take it; my eyes were locked on the photo on the cell phone screen, and my ears were ringing. My mind went blank, with only one thought screaming inside me: I have to find him. I need to get to the bottom of this. I dashed out of the electric scooter shop like a madwoman and hailed a passing taxi. As I opened the car door, my voice was still trembling: "Driver, please go to R Hotel. Drive fast—faster!" The taxi weaved through the traffic, the street scenes outside the window blurring by. I gripped my cracked cell phone, knuckles white, tears welling up but stubbornly refused to fall. I kept telling myself over and over that it must be a misunderstanding, Dylan Collins wasn't that kind of person, he was just helping a friend, the photos were just a matter of angles... But all those reassurances were completely shattered when the taxi stopped in front of the five-star hotel. A red carpet was rolled out at the hotel entrance, and the doormen stood in sharp uniforms. A black luxury car slowly pulled out of the parking lot. The moment the window rolled down, I clearly saw Dylan sitting in the driver's seat, his head lowered as he talked to the woman in the passenger seat. His finger lightly grazed the woman's chin, the intimacy glaringly obvious. "Dylan, does Nova Jones really think that you are broke?" The woman's sweet voice floated through the car window into my ears—it was Ruby Carter, the female colleague Dylan called "just an ordinary friend." Dylan sneered, his voice dripping with disdain: "What else? Being with her is just for novelty. Her paltry salary, saved with sacrifice, barely buys me a new watch. When I get tired of her, I'll just ditch her." The cold wind blew into my collar like countless little knives, painfully cutting into my skin. I stood by the roadside, watching the luxury car slowly drive away until it became a tiny black dot, then I crouched down, hugging my knees and crying out loud. Passersby threw me strange looks, but I didn't care. Three months of scrimping and saving, three months of genuine devotion—it was all just a carefully planned joke. After crying enough, I wiped the tears from my face and took out my cell phone to call Dylan Collins. The moment he answered, his voice was still that gentle tone I was used to: "Hey, Nova, what's wrong? Missing me?" "Dylan, let's break up." I gritted my teeth, speaking slowly and deliberately, trying hard not to let the tremor in my voice reveal my vulnerability. There was a pause on the other end, then an impatient tone: "What are you throwing a fit about now? I'm busy with social engagements." "I saw you outside the R Hotel, with Ruby Carter." I closed my eyes, pushing all my emotions deep inside. The phone went completely silent. After a few seconds, Dylan's cold sneer came through: "So what if you saw it? I was going to tell you sooner or later. Nova, don't flatter yourself—you think you're something special?" I hung up the phone, walked to the trash can by the street, and without a second thought, tossed that bank card right in. The card fell into the trash with a soft sound, but to me, it was like a stone smashing all my illusions about Dylan Collins to pieces.