They Spoke French To Hide It, Not Knowing I Understood Chapter 03

They Spoke French To Hide It, Not Knowing I Understood Chapter 03

I started packing.

The suitcase lay open on the floor. Every wheel was scuffed raw.

Three years of too many flights.

I’d flown over full of hope. In less than half a day, I was stuffing everything back in again.

I looked around the apartment—photos of Ethan and Nova at a soccer game on the wall, one of her hair ties still on the coffee table, a sticky note on the fridge in her handwriting, [Ethan, your cooking sucks.]

The things I’d added to this place—the dinnerware he never reached for, the rice cooker he never opened, the fleece slippers he said were ugly—all of them sat shoved in a corner under a layer of dust.

I thought back over the year. Every trip meant twelve hours in the air.

I’d route my journey in advance, memorize the metro lines, and jot down every offhand comment he made in my notes app.

He craved homemade food, so I learned to cook it. He missed hot pot, so I packed broth bases and spices into my luggage and flew them across an ocean.

But he always seemed bored.

While I cooked, he and Nova stayed on voice chat gaming, laughing until they couldn’t breathe.

I’d call, “Dinner’s ready!” and he wouldn’t even glance up, “Let me finish this match.”

By the time the food had gone cold, he’d shuffle over and pick at a few bites.

I’d suggest going out, and he’d say, “It’s freezing, what’s the point?” Then Nova would message, “Ethan, board game night,” and he’d grab his jacket and leave.

I figured I was just too dull.

So I learned to game. I died so many times my screen stayed black.

Nova laughed beside me, “Elara, maybe stop feeding. You could just, like, go watch a show or something.”

Ethan smirked. “How is she this bad?”

I tried board games next. I stayed up all night memorizing the rules and still fumbled every move.

Nova patted his shoulder. “Should we team up? I don’t think we can carry her.”

Ethan sighed. “Forget it, don’t force it.”

Every desperate attempt I made to close the distance—in their eyes, it was nothing but a clumsy joke.

I wiped the corners of my eyes, shoved the last piece of clothing into the suitcase, and zipped it shut.

Ethan walked in holding a paper bag.

It was the box from my favorite bakery.

He set it next to my suitcase, crouched down, and kept his voice low.

“Stop packing.”

I didn’t look at him.

He pulled out the cake and opened the lid.

“Tiramisu. Your favorite. I drove downtown to get it. Heavy snow, roads were a nightmare.”

My hands stilled.

“Ellie.” He looked up at me, his eyes rimmed red. “I’ve thought about it. I really have. I got too close to Nova. I’ll fix it. I’ll set boundaries—keep things strictly casual, just classmates.”

“Please don’t go.”

I didn’t say anything. I just stared at the wheels of my suitcase—

grooved and battered, every scratch a round trip etched in.

He yanked me into his chest, chin pressed to the top of my head. 　　“When I come back home, we’ll get married. Okay?”

I closed my eyes.