He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters? - Chapter 96: Chapter 96
You are reading He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters?, Chapter 96: Chapter 96. Read more chapters of He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters?.
I barely slept.
At dawn, Ryan was still fast asleep, breathing steadily.
I quietly got up and walked to the window. The morning light was soft, Chicago's dawn carrying a damp chill.
I opened my phone and found the TikTok of the only girl Ryan followed—her pinned video.
Sometimes I had to admire technology's algorithms. They could calculate big data, and they could calculate the human heart.
I'd never been into short videos, but the first one I ever watched turned out to be evidence of my boyfriend's affair.
I clicked on the girl's profile.
Her handle was @CurlyShootsPhotos, profile pic a backlit silhouette with long, wavy hair caught in the wind.
I scrolled down to her earliest video—March 4th.
In the frame, Ryan stood under a maple tree by the waterfront, sunlight filtering through leaves and dappling his shoulders. He looked awkward as he smiled at the camera, while the girl's clear voice narrated: "Hey cutie, just work with me here! One photo!"
So that's how they met.
She was a street photographer.
That's where Ryan learned his photography skills.
I stared at the screen. The girl's hair length was similar to mine when she appeared in frame, with those same wavy curls that—from a distance—looked just like my silhouette photo from his Instagram.
So when he posted that photo... was he missing her?
I mechanically scrolled down, only to find seven videos featuring him from March 1st to May 31st. I watched those seven videos hundreds of times, like a TV series, witnessing their journey from strangers to polite acquaintances to intimate familiarity.
The last video was the day before Ryan's business trip ended.
In it, he stood at the train station, looking down at the girl with unbearably tender eyes.
The girl's voice was full of laughter: "Next time, don't forget to bring me some New York bagels!"
Ryan reached out to touch her curls, saying softly, "Next time I'll give you even prettier curls."
Yesterday morning's words echoed in my ears: "The curl should be bigger, I think."
Now... I understood.
All those details I'd deliberately ignored came flooding back.
How clingy had Ryan and I been before? We video-called every lunch break, had to be on the phone before bed every night.
But ever since his Portland business trip, I'd been unable to reach him so many times.
I'd assumed he was just busy with work, but it got worse after he came back.
He used to hate texting, but now he was glued to his phone, smiling at the screen constantly.
When I asked who he was chatting with, he barely looked up: "Project team colleagues. Finally making progress on the proposal."
I'd been happy about that.
Because we'd been discussing marriage for over a year.
I was from a single-parent family, and my mom had passed away, but Ryan's parents loved me.
Everything was just waiting for Ryan to propose.
I waited and waited, but instead he stopped touching me.
Since returning from his trip, he'd rejected me three times. Each time: "Sorry Del, work's crazy right now. In a few days, okay?"
Later he stopped giving me opportunities entirely—either falling asleep early or hiding in his study.
How ridiculous.
I'd actually made medical appointments thinking I'd lost my appeal, even secretly saw a therapist wondering if I was being too sensitive.
Looking back now, his heart had already been occupied by someone else...
I closed the video, took a deep breath, and opened the booking app, quickly purchasing two train tickets to Portland.
Then I turned back to the bed and gently shook Ryan awake. "Wake up. We're changing our plans."
He sleepily opened his eyes, voice hoarse: "...What?"
"I want to go to Portland."
His pupils contracted sharply, instantly alert: "Portland? Why the sudden change?"
"Didn't you spend three months there on that business trip?" I tilted my head, tone casual. "I want to see what it's like."
He shot up in bed, frowning, objections rapid-fire: "But we haven't finished our Chicago itinerary! We only did one day at Disney."
"Weren't you always wanting to stay at the park hotel? We waited a month to get this reservation—such a waste to cancel now."
"And that trendy restaurant you've been dying to try..."
"None of that matters anymore." I cut him off, waving my phone. "A friend gave me two concert tickets for my favorite artist—in Portland."
His expression froze for a second, then visibly relaxed: "...Concert?"
"Yeah, last-minute added show. Super hard to get tickets." I stared into his eyes. "Don't you want to come with me?"
"Of course I do!" He immediately jumped out of bed, moving so fast it was like he was afraid I'd change my mind. "I'll pack right now."
I watched his hurried figure, noticing the corner of a veil peeking out of his suitcase, and smiled slightly.
"I'm... really looking forward to it too."
At dawn, Ryan was still fast asleep, breathing steadily.
I quietly got up and walked to the window. The morning light was soft, Chicago's dawn carrying a damp chill.
I opened my phone and found the TikTok of the only girl Ryan followed—her pinned video.
Sometimes I had to admire technology's algorithms. They could calculate big data, and they could calculate the human heart.
I'd never been into short videos, but the first one I ever watched turned out to be evidence of my boyfriend's affair.
I clicked on the girl's profile.
Her handle was @CurlyShootsPhotos, profile pic a backlit silhouette with long, wavy hair caught in the wind.
I scrolled down to her earliest video—March 4th.
In the frame, Ryan stood under a maple tree by the waterfront, sunlight filtering through leaves and dappling his shoulders. He looked awkward as he smiled at the camera, while the girl's clear voice narrated: "Hey cutie, just work with me here! One photo!"
So that's how they met.
She was a street photographer.
That's where Ryan learned his photography skills.
I stared at the screen. The girl's hair length was similar to mine when she appeared in frame, with those same wavy curls that—from a distance—looked just like my silhouette photo from his Instagram.
So when he posted that photo... was he missing her?
I mechanically scrolled down, only to find seven videos featuring him from March 1st to May 31st. I watched those seven videos hundreds of times, like a TV series, witnessing their journey from strangers to polite acquaintances to intimate familiarity.
The last video was the day before Ryan's business trip ended.
In it, he stood at the train station, looking down at the girl with unbearably tender eyes.
The girl's voice was full of laughter: "Next time, don't forget to bring me some New York bagels!"
Ryan reached out to touch her curls, saying softly, "Next time I'll give you even prettier curls."
Yesterday morning's words echoed in my ears: "The curl should be bigger, I think."
Now... I understood.
All those details I'd deliberately ignored came flooding back.
How clingy had Ryan and I been before? We video-called every lunch break, had to be on the phone before bed every night.
But ever since his Portland business trip, I'd been unable to reach him so many times.
I'd assumed he was just busy with work, but it got worse after he came back.
He used to hate texting, but now he was glued to his phone, smiling at the screen constantly.
When I asked who he was chatting with, he barely looked up: "Project team colleagues. Finally making progress on the proposal."
I'd been happy about that.
Because we'd been discussing marriage for over a year.
I was from a single-parent family, and my mom had passed away, but Ryan's parents loved me.
Everything was just waiting for Ryan to propose.
I waited and waited, but instead he stopped touching me.
Since returning from his trip, he'd rejected me three times. Each time: "Sorry Del, work's crazy right now. In a few days, okay?"
Later he stopped giving me opportunities entirely—either falling asleep early or hiding in his study.
How ridiculous.
I'd actually made medical appointments thinking I'd lost my appeal, even secretly saw a therapist wondering if I was being too sensitive.
Looking back now, his heart had already been occupied by someone else...
I closed the video, took a deep breath, and opened the booking app, quickly purchasing two train tickets to Portland.
Then I turned back to the bed and gently shook Ryan awake. "Wake up. We're changing our plans."
He sleepily opened his eyes, voice hoarse: "...What?"
"I want to go to Portland."
His pupils contracted sharply, instantly alert: "Portland? Why the sudden change?"
"Didn't you spend three months there on that business trip?" I tilted my head, tone casual. "I want to see what it's like."
He shot up in bed, frowning, objections rapid-fire: "But we haven't finished our Chicago itinerary! We only did one day at Disney."
"Weren't you always wanting to stay at the park hotel? We waited a month to get this reservation—such a waste to cancel now."
"And that trendy restaurant you've been dying to try..."
"None of that matters anymore." I cut him off, waving my phone. "A friend gave me two concert tickets for my favorite artist—in Portland."
His expression froze for a second, then visibly relaxed: "...Concert?"
"Yeah, last-minute added show. Super hard to get tickets." I stared into his eyes. "Don't you want to come with me?"
"Of course I do!" He immediately jumped out of bed, moving so fast it was like he was afraid I'd change my mind. "I'll pack right now."
I watched his hurried figure, noticing the corner of a veil peeking out of his suitcase, and smiled slightly.
"I'm... really looking forward to it too."
End of He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters? Chapter 96. Continue reading Chapter 97 or return to He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters? book page.