He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters? - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters?, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters?.
I thought Nash wouldn't come back.
I was wrong.
The next day, he returned.
He didn't try to talk to me again, just sat on the bench across from the café.
From opening to closing, he sat there.
Silent, like a statue.
The third day, the fourth day—still the same.
My regular customers noticed him and quietly asked who he was.
I just said: "Nobody important."
A week later, as I was closing up to go home, I found him still sitting there.
The streetlight stretched his shadow long across the pavement, making him look desolate and alone.
I walked over.
"What exactly do you want?"
He looked up, eyes bloodshot.
"I don't want anything," his voice was hoarse. "I just want to be close to you."
I found it almost funny.
"Nash, who is this act for? Just go."
He shook his head. "It's not an act. I just... can't control it. Every time I close my eyes, I see you walking away. The house is full of your shadows—I can't go back. I can only come here, watch you, and feel... like I'm still alive."
As he spoke, his eyes slowly reddened.
A man nearing forty, breaking down in front of me like a helpless child.
In the past, I would have been heartbroken.
Now, I just found it ridiculous.
"That's your problem, not mine," I said coldly. "Keep this up and I'll call the police."
He lowered his head, shoulders trembling slightly.
"Lila," he pulled a small box from his pocket and held it out to me, "this... is for you."
I opened it.
A key?
"This is... the key to our old house, I transferred the deed to your name. And the remaining company shares—I signed them all over to you too. I know none of this makes up for anything, but..."
Before he could finish, I threw the key back at him.
"I don't need it."
The key hit the ground with a clear ringing sound.
"Nash, let me tell you something—everything I have now, I earned myself. I don't need your charity or compensation."
I looked at him with unwavering eyes.
"My life has nothing to do with you anymore. Please, stop interfering with my life. Don't make me hate you."
I walked away without looking back.
Behind me, I seemed to hear his muffled sobs.
But so what?
If you knew it would come to this, why did it in the first place?
I was wrong.
The next day, he returned.
He didn't try to talk to me again, just sat on the bench across from the café.
From opening to closing, he sat there.
Silent, like a statue.
The third day, the fourth day—still the same.
My regular customers noticed him and quietly asked who he was.
I just said: "Nobody important."
A week later, as I was closing up to go home, I found him still sitting there.
The streetlight stretched his shadow long across the pavement, making him look desolate and alone.
I walked over.
"What exactly do you want?"
He looked up, eyes bloodshot.
"I don't want anything," his voice was hoarse. "I just want to be close to you."
I found it almost funny.
"Nash, who is this act for? Just go."
He shook his head. "It's not an act. I just... can't control it. Every time I close my eyes, I see you walking away. The house is full of your shadows—I can't go back. I can only come here, watch you, and feel... like I'm still alive."
As he spoke, his eyes slowly reddened.
A man nearing forty, breaking down in front of me like a helpless child.
In the past, I would have been heartbroken.
Now, I just found it ridiculous.
"That's your problem, not mine," I said coldly. "Keep this up and I'll call the police."
He lowered his head, shoulders trembling slightly.
"Lila," he pulled a small box from his pocket and held it out to me, "this... is for you."
I opened it.
A key?
"This is... the key to our old house, I transferred the deed to your name. And the remaining company shares—I signed them all over to you too. I know none of this makes up for anything, but..."
Before he could finish, I threw the key back at him.
"I don't need it."
The key hit the ground with a clear ringing sound.
"Nash, let me tell you something—everything I have now, I earned myself. I don't need your charity or compensation."
I looked at him with unwavering eyes.
"My life has nothing to do with you anymore. Please, stop interfering with my life. Don't make me hate you."
I walked away without looking back.
Behind me, I seemed to hear his muffled sobs.
But so what?
If you knew it would come to this, why did it in the first place?
End of He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters? Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters? book page.