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One day, she walked up and bought a custard.

“For me,” she said. “Not for Ryan.”

I charged her.

She paid without trying to bargain.

“Everything became crystal clear to me,” she murmured.

We didn’t become friends.

We didn’t need to.

Ryan tried to come back twice.

The first time with flowers.

The second time with hunger.

“I miss your cooking,” he told me.

I looked continue reading …