My Student Stole My Fiancé - Chapter 12: Chapter 12
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"I don't hate you. In fact, I'm grateful for the time we had together."
Lennon's quiet sobs cut off abruptly, leaving a silence so thick I could almost feel it. I pictured the flicker of hope in his eyes—and without thinking, the corner of my mouth lifted in a faint smile.
"But life is a road we all walk alone. That goes for both of us."
"You were just a passing chapter in my life, as I should have been in yours."
Love Doesn't Wait Forever
Thank you, Lennon.
But this is where it ends.
Over half a year later, murmurs started spreading through the orchestra where I worked.
One day, a close colleague finally caved and asked, her voice laced with concern, if I'd brought any trouble with me from back home.
"Lately, there's been a man hanging around the orchestra. Says he's looking for you."
I was stunned. I'd been living quietly, keeping to myself. How had I drawn this kind of attention?
It wasn't until an evening when I came home early and spotted a familiar figure loitering near my apartment building that everything fell into place.
It was Lennon.
He looked older. The polished man I once knew was gone, replaced by scruffy stubble and rumpled clothes.
The second he saw me, he bolted.
After that, I started noticing him everywhere—always at a distance, never speaking, never approaching.
My coworkers, uneasy about what they called a "stalker," warned me to be careful. I just smiled and brushed it off.
If watching from afar gave him some kind of peace, that was his business.
Lennon kept up his silent vigil until the following Christmas.
Just before leaving for the day, the orchestra director handed me a resume and asked if I knew the applicant. One glance at the name and details, and I recognized it instantly—Lennon.
His most recent job had ended abruptly last summer.
"He's a former colleague. A skilled flutist with plenty of experience."
The director nodded, folding the paper as he turned to leave.
"Though, given his… questionable character, you wouldn't want someone like him leading the wind section, would you?"
I stiffened. He narrowed his eyes at me, half-teasing, half-probing. "Didn't take you for the type to badmouth an old coworker, Miss Dawson."
"I believe in honesty—both professionally and personally."
And honestly? Lennon wasn't right for the job.
Even after that, he lingered on the edges of my life, appearing in glimpses but never stepping closer.
Then, one morning—just before my wedding—a sharp knock jolted me awake.
Grumbling, I rubbed my eyes and yanked the door open.
On the doorstep lay a simple card.
Inside, in handwriting I knew too well, was a single line:
[I wish you all the best in the future.]
I traced the words with my fingertips. A small, quiet smile tugged at my lips, though I didn't say a word.
I wish you peace and happiness, Lennon.
And for myself?
I wished for the same.
(The End)
Lennon's quiet sobs cut off abruptly, leaving a silence so thick I could almost feel it. I pictured the flicker of hope in his eyes—and without thinking, the corner of my mouth lifted in a faint smile.
"But life is a road we all walk alone. That goes for both of us."
"You were just a passing chapter in my life, as I should have been in yours."
Love Doesn't Wait Forever
Thank you, Lennon.
But this is where it ends.
Over half a year later, murmurs started spreading through the orchestra where I worked.
One day, a close colleague finally caved and asked, her voice laced with concern, if I'd brought any trouble with me from back home.
"Lately, there's been a man hanging around the orchestra. Says he's looking for you."
I was stunned. I'd been living quietly, keeping to myself. How had I drawn this kind of attention?
It wasn't until an evening when I came home early and spotted a familiar figure loitering near my apartment building that everything fell into place.
It was Lennon.
He looked older. The polished man I once knew was gone, replaced by scruffy stubble and rumpled clothes.
The second he saw me, he bolted.
After that, I started noticing him everywhere—always at a distance, never speaking, never approaching.
My coworkers, uneasy about what they called a "stalker," warned me to be careful. I just smiled and brushed it off.
If watching from afar gave him some kind of peace, that was his business.
Lennon kept up his silent vigil until the following Christmas.
Just before leaving for the day, the orchestra director handed me a resume and asked if I knew the applicant. One glance at the name and details, and I recognized it instantly—Lennon.
His most recent job had ended abruptly last summer.
"He's a former colleague. A skilled flutist with plenty of experience."
The director nodded, folding the paper as he turned to leave.
"Though, given his… questionable character, you wouldn't want someone like him leading the wind section, would you?"
I stiffened. He narrowed his eyes at me, half-teasing, half-probing. "Didn't take you for the type to badmouth an old coworker, Miss Dawson."
"I believe in honesty—both professionally and personally."
And honestly? Lennon wasn't right for the job.
Even after that, he lingered on the edges of my life, appearing in glimpses but never stepping closer.
Then, one morning—just before my wedding—a sharp knock jolted me awake.
Grumbling, I rubbed my eyes and yanked the door open.
On the doorstep lay a simple card.
Inside, in handwriting I knew too well, was a single line:
[I wish you all the best in the future.]
I traced the words with my fingertips. A small, quiet smile tugged at my lips, though I didn't say a word.
I wish you peace and happiness, Lennon.
And for myself?
I wished for the same.
(The End)
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