When Dust Meets the Lighthouse

During high school, Dylan and I were desk mates for three full years.

I still remember when Dylan chose to study liberal arts in university.

Our homeroom teacher was puzzled, given his outstanding grades in science subjects.

Dylan glanced at me and said he wanted to make films.

I remained silent.

Back then, I was too insecure to even voice the most common dreams of youth.

Later, Dylan submitted a story I had written to a writing contest on my behalf.

He spread the winning certificate in front of me, pointing at the name "Naomi Sloan" on it, saying:

"Don't be afraid, Naomi. Look, you really are talented."

Back then, when sunlight streamed through the classroom windows, he always liked to nap facing me.

One day, as I was writing an outline, he mumbled with half-closed eyes:

"In the future, you'll write scripts, and I'll turn them into movies. We'll never be apart."

We were young then, truly looking forward to the future.

I even believed for a while that it would be our future.

It was pouring rain on the day of our SATs.

When I walked out of the exam hall, Dylan was already waiting for me with an umbrella.

Watching our classmates celebrating wildly in the rain, I nudged him:

"Dylan, why don't we go crazy too?"

He moved closer to me, tilting the umbrella almost completely over me:

"No way, your period is coming soon. You can't risk catching a cold."

My face flushed hot. Looking at our classmates coming and going, I felt a twinge of sadness:

"Dylan, after graduation, we won't be able to see each other every day anymore."

He gazed into the misty rain and chuckled softly:

"We're just graduating, not breaking up."

The rain was so loud that I thought I might have misheard. I wanted to confirm:

"What did you say?"

"If you didn't hear it, forget it."

Dylan lifted his chin proudly.

Even until we parted ways, he never repeated those words.

—

Jeffery poured a glass of wine and handed it to me, gesturing with his chin.

"Old friends reuniting; go on and toast to him."

Hearing this, Dylan's usually cool and noble features took on a hint of darkness.

He reached out to stop my glass.

"No need. Don't make her drink. She's not good with alcohol."

I blinked hard, fighting back the sting in my eyes, and lifted the glass.

"It's okay; I can drink now."

He paused for a moment, then chuckled softly as he raised the glass a waiter had brought him, his voice low.

"Hmm, all grown up now."

Jeffery's hand around my waist tightened. He looked down at me, his gaze direct, filled with mockery and disgust.

"Mr. Carter."

He smiled, leaning down to kiss me lightly.

"Naomi and I have pleasant matters to attend to; we'll take our leave first."

Jeffery's words were suggestive.

My face turned pale.

Dylan reached out and gripped Jeffery's arm.

The back of his hand tensed, veins bulging, indicating just how furious he was.

But when he turned to look at me, his tone softened considerably.

"Naomi, do you want to go with him?"

Jeffery smiled carelessly, putting the choice in my hands.

"Darling, he's asking you. Do you want to come with me?"

I felt my whole body trembling slightly, my fingertips pressing hard enough to dig into my flesh.

It wasn't until Dylan spoke again that I was pulled back to reality.

I could barely look at him, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Dylan, we'll make a move first."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I didn't dare linger.

I left with Jeffery, arm in arm.