It was around a week after seeing the doctor had the “flower puking” started. I was alone in the dorm, taking yet another rest day as the illness robbed me of my ability to walk around, let alone perform or attend filming. The moment the flowers came out, I could tell why this was called the fatal stage of the illness. Because they weren't just flowers, but flowers drenched in blood. And when I say drenched, I literally mean drenched. Beneath the pool of crimson red, I could see a little bit of yellow, peeking out like the sun from behind the clouds.

Now me, being the cool and calm Oh Sehun, I rinsed my mouth and moved on to clean up the place. It wouldn’t be good if the members found out and cause a ruckus after all. And maybe that’s when I started to take this situation more seriously, what exactly in the world should I do? Dying at 23 didn’t seem a good idea. It was either operation and getting loved back. But being 952 kilometres away from Luhan and still wanting to be loved back didn’t seem like a feasible plan, especially when he’s attached.

It may seem petty but I can remember vividly the day I got to know of his relationship. October 8, exactly at 12 noon, a post saying “大家好，给大家介绍一下，这是我女朋友@关晓彤 ​​” came out on the feed of my weibo. It didn’t take a genius to understand what it meant the moment I saw “女朋友” and the tagged account of a girl.

To put it simply, my heart broke (and so did my phone screen). I was jealous, definitely, but on top of that a piece of me broke inside. It may seem irrational, but even after all these years of being separated, there was a small part of me which held on to a tiny hope, that maybe, just maybe, Luhan loved me back. It didn't need to be as much as I loved him, nor did it need to be open and known to people. If he was even just a little fond of me, it would be enough for me to go on cloud nine. And it only took one Weibo post to burst that tiny, unrealistic hope of mine.

It hurts when the fact that your love will remain unrequited permanently hits you like a 100 pound hammer, but it hurts even more to pretend that everything was rainbow and sunshine and fine.

There's a kind of pain called replying "I'm fine" when people ask what's wrong. I never understood the logic behind denying that you're hurting, but that day, I understood. Because there's nothing that can be done about it, because it's a secret you hold close to your heart and is willing to bring it into the coffin with you, because you're the only one who knows what's wrong. So you say "I'm fine".