She was kind and beautiful—she was my type, and I liked her. It was nothing like love at the first sight, but I did really like her, very much. I didn’t know what possessed me to ask for her phone number on the first meeting, an encounter that was planned by chance and coincidence. It was embarrassing, but I liked her and I asked, and I was rewarded with a series of numbers written on a piece of paper for my bravery. I wasn’t the type who often did that, I usually never did that—but I asked, and she gave me the digits with a shy smile.

Maybe it was her smile that attracted me.

The thin lips and small mouth that curled into a beautiful bow—I wanted to see it. I wanted to be the one who could make her smile like that. I succeeded, several times—she and I had happy times together. I wanted to shower her with care and attention so I could always see that smile. I tried my best to always keep that smile blooming on her face, to keep her happy.

However…

“I broke up with my girlfriend,” I told you with a gloomy face when we went to drink together. You frowned and patted my back sympathetically.

“I thought you really like her?” you asked, tilting your head. I wasn’t sure what you were thinking about, but there seemed to be something on your mind from the way you were absent-mindedly playing with the rim of your glass.

“I do,” and my reply was not a lie. I liked her. I did really like her.

“Then why…?” you inquired carefully, although you couldn’t fully keep the curiosity from seeping into your voice.

“I couldn’t make her happy,” that was the truth as well. I rubbed my face in exhaustion and guilt as I remembered her smile, tinged with hurt instead of joy. Her pretend smile was not as beautiful as the real one, but it was the best that I could do. She was too kind—and she loved me. Even though I was a bad guy, she loved me all the same. How big was her heart to be able to love such a bastard like me, even though the only thing I could give her was a lot of wounds? She should have thought twice before she loved me.

It was unfair for her.

You stayed quiet, looking down on your glass on the table. Your expression was solemn, was there something burdening you?

“We are just too busy…” the excuse that I told her, I repeated it to you. You nodded, indicating that you understood my reasons, did you buy the lie?

Yes—it was a lie.

My hectic schedule as celebrity? It was nothing but an excuse. Even though I was busy, I could put in all my effort to make her happy—but I didn’t, I hurt her instead. I closed my eyes and rubbed my temple, a throbbing headache was coming. I promised to make her smile but I broke that promise, stomped it mercilessly on the ground until it was nothing more than dust. Now all I could remember was the tears on the corner of her eyes, and I was the one who caused that. I took a deep breath and buried my face on my palms, the memory of separation loopin