Boyfriend says I’m too much—Someone else’s turn Chapter 02

Boyfriend says I’m too much—Someone else’s turn Chapter 02

The evening breeze carried a slight chill as I studied his distant expression.

It reminded me of what my friends said when they found out I’d become this… hopelessly devoted girlfriend.

“Seriously? You’re not lacking in options. Why fixate on one guy?”

But when they found out that guy was Asher—and that I’d actually gotten him—they suddenly understood.

“Well… it’s Asher Owen.”

“If you don’t chase him, someone else will.”

Youth had a way of handing you one person you never fully got over.

For me, that person was Asher.

Back in junior year, during a track meet, he suddenly leaned in beside me.

Sweat rolled down his throat, his features sharper and more striking than I’d ever noticed before.

He looked straight at me, tilted his head slightly—effortlessly handsome.

“Hey. Can I buy a bottle of water from you?”

Back then, Asher probably never imagined he’d end up with someone like me clinging to him.

He frowned slightly, but in the end, he still went with me to the bakery I’d mentioned earlier.

I didn’t expect a newly opened place to be this packed.

Asher hated crowds.

So the moment I saw the long line, before he could even react, I grabbed his sleeve.

“Forget it. It’s too crowded.”

But he stopped. “I’ll wait.”

Sometimes, he’d have moments like this—rare flashes of patience.

I stood in line, glancing out the window.

Dressed in black, he stood there with his bag slung over one shoulder, head lowered as he scrolled through his phone.

Just standing there, he drew attention from almost every girl passing by.

But when I finally got the cake and walked out, he was gone.

I texted him. Called him.

No reply. No answer.

And somehow, it felt normal.

I was used to it—his indifference, his rejection.

The last time he responded to me was when I asked him to be my boyfriend for the twenty-first time.

My teacher once praised me for being persistent.

My mom called it stubborn.

Both applied to how I chased Asher.

Back in junior year, he’d already been admitted early to Atheson University, while I was barely average.

Nowhere near his league.

The first time I cornered him outside the restroom to confess my feelings to him, he had said coldly, “I don’t date people with bad grades.”

Because of that one sentence, I went from rank 361 to 57.

Later, I barely made it into Atheson.

The sixteenth time I asked him to be with me was at the school gate.

That time, he didn’t even hesitate.

“I don’t like you.”