He just took my kindness for granted, never giving anything back.

This time, I wasn't going to indulge him anymore.

I gripped my phone tightly and took a deep breath. "Dylan, let's break up."

On the other end, it seemed like he hadn't heard me. He shouted again, "Evelyn, what did you say?"

"Dylan, I said we're breaking up."

This time, in the stillness of the night, my voice was crystal clear.

Dylan seemed stunned momentarily, then finally replied, "Haha, Evelyn, are you drunk, or am I? Are you breaking up with me?

"Fine, if you want to break up, let's break up. I've been sick of you for ages.

"But this time, you better stick to your word. Don't come crawling back to me like a dog, begging!

"I don't take back trash!"

His words were colder than the night wind.

This time, my heart didn't hurt anymore.

Once I let go, it didn't seem as hard as I thought it would be.

I heard myself respond, "No, Dylan. I don't love you anymore. I won't come back to you again."

When did I first fall in love with Dylan?

It must have started when I was 18.

We were classmates in college. From the moment we started freshman year, I was drawn to the boy with bright eyes and a clean, crisp look.

There seemed to be nothing wrong with him.

He was good-looking, smart, and the kind of guy many girls had a crush on.

But he was aloof, and most girls gave up after failing to win him over.

Only I stayed persistent.

I brought him breakfast, bought him drinks, and saved his seats. Anything I could do for him, I did.

I even stood in line all night to buy him limited edition sneakers for his birthday.

All because he liked a post about those shoes on Twitter.

My teenage crush was bold and passionate. I wanted to give him my whole heart.

Back then, many people mocked me, saying I wasn't bad-looking and came from a good family. Why was I acting like a lovesick puppy?

They wondered if Dylan had saved my life or something.

They were right. In a way, Dylan had saved my life once.

From the first moment I saw him, I recognized him as the boy who had helped me long ago.

The crescent-shaped scar on his forehead, hidden by his hair, was something I could never forget.

Sadly, Dylan didn't like me. He was always so cold toward me.

He had a high school sweetheart, a girl who had left the country.

He wanted to follow her, but his family couldn't afford it.

I'd also heard that his high school rival had gone with her.