Chapter 2

As I walked out of the ballroom, nineteen-year-old Ethan rushed to follow me, gently tugging at my sleeve.

His fingers felt ice-cold, and his voice was thick with tears. "El... the wishing star... let’s use it to get the necklace back, okay?"

"That’s our necklace... the one I saved up to buy you..."

I looked into his clear, bright eyes—they were filled with the absolute sincerity and heartbreaking pain of a nineteen-year-old boy.

"If we use it, the jar will be empty," I said. "This is your last chance."

He nodded without a second thought, tears welling up in his eyes.

I fell silent for a moment, then turned back toward the ballroom.

Peeking through the cracked door, I saw Chloe leaning close to Ethan’s ear, whispering something. Her hand was playfully sliding down his tie, her body pressed entirely against his.

Ethan was laughing. It was a laugh I used to know so well—full of indulgence and affection.

The nineteen-year-old Ethan beside me froze completely, his face turning pale as a sheet.

I pushed the door open.

The two of them instantly pulled apart. A flicker of panic crossed Ethan’s face, quickly replaced by annoyance. "Why are you back again?"

I didn't say a word. I walked straight up to them.

Chloe’s high heel was stepping right on the chain of my necklace.

"Excuse me," I said coldly.

Chloe shrank back slightly toward Ethan, her voice turning incredibly soft. "Eleanor, please don't misunderstand. I was just comforting Ethan... he was really stressed out..."

Ethan grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight it hurt. "Apologize to Chloe."

I looked into his eyes, then looked at the nineteen-year-old version of him.

The nineteen-year-old Ethan’s lips trembled. He couldn't speak, only shook his head desperately.

"I’m sorry," I said quietly.

Then I bent down and pulled the necklace out from under Chloe’s shoe.

The delicate chain now had several deep, ugly scratches, looking incredibly battered under the bright lights.

"Oh, Eleanor, I am so, so sorry..." Chloe murmured, but I clearly saw the fleeting, triumphant smirk on her face.

I didn't look at either of them again. Clutching the scratched necklace in my hand, I turned and left the ballroom.

This time, I didn't look back.

Walking down the long hotel corridor, nineteen-year-old Ethan walked silently beside me.

Only when we reached the parking lot did he speak, his voice raspy. "El... tomorrow..."

"I know," I interrupted. "Tomorrow is the day we promised to get engaged."

His eyes lit up for a fraction of a second, then quickly dimmed.

"Six years ago, on our first anniversary," I said softly, "you said that no matter if we were rich or poor, on Valentine's Day six years later, you would propose to me."

"Where?" he asked, his voice filled with cautious hope.

"The place we first met," I said. "The park near campus."

Nineteen-year-old Ethan’s eyes filled with tears, and he blinked hard to keep them from falling.

"Will you go?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "I will be there, and you will be there too."

He looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end, he only gently squeezed my hand—though I couldn't feel any physical warmth from him.

That night, I put the scratched necklace into my bedside drawer.

The damage on the chain was painfully visible under the lamp.

Nineteen-year-old Ethan sat on the edge of my bed, watching me for a very long time.

Finally, he said, "El, do you know how I’m able to see the future?"

I didn't answer.

"The night you confessed to me, I made a wish upon a shooting star to see our future," he whispered. "But my mind can't retain the details. I won't remember everything until midnight tomorrow."

"So tomorrow night," he looked at me, a tear finally sliding down his cheek, "he is going to regret this so much."

"But his regret is going to be too late, isn't it?"

I remained silent.

Outside the window, the city lights burned endlessly into the night.

***