The White Garden Villa.
The wind, carrying the coolness of a light drizzle, gently stirred the white curtains. They floated up softly, dancing silently in the tranquil living room. A burst of music from a phone echoed down from the second floor, ringing stubbornly until it was abruptly silenced by the sound of something crashing.
Philip sat on the couch in the living room, glancing up at the ceiling before letting out a wry smile and rubbing his nose. Three days ago, Ryan had promised to introduce a girl to him, but after waiting for two whole hours at the café, she never showed up. When he returned, Ms. Isabella informed him that Ryan had locked himself in his room and refused to come out, even skipping dinner. That very night, Ryan had fallen ill, prompting Dean James to rush over. After talking with James, Ms. Isabella's expression turned anxious, and she hadn't been back to the company for the past two days.
"Philip."
Isabella stood by the window, her figure shrouded by the fluttering white curtains, as ethereal as smoke and mist. Her skin appeared so translucent, almost crystalline, while the fine lines at the corners of her eyes resembled the gentle ripples of autumn waters. Her voice was soft, as light as the mist itself.
"Yes, Ms. Isabella." Philip had great respect for Ryan's mother. She had lost her husband at the age of twenty-five, and though she seemed fragile, she had managed to single-handedly run the vast family business. Countless people had pointed fingers at her behind her back, yet she remained as strong and flawless as ever.
"What has been going on with Ryan lately?"
"..."
"You are his closest friend, Philip. Since childhood, he has always shared his secrets with you," Ms. Isabella gazed at him intently.
"Well…" Philip smiled bitterly. He didn't have anything concrete to tell her.
"What kind of girl is she?"
Philip looked up, startled.
"Ryan's in love, isn't he?" Ms. Isabella sighed. It could only be love that made Ryan, who had always been indifferent about his studies, suddenly so diligent about going to school every day. Love could explain why he'd become absent-minded during dinner, why he would smile to himself while sitting on the couch, and why, each morning, he would check his appearance in the mirror before leaving the house, making sure his clothes and hair looked just right. "Have you met the girl, Philip?"
"Yes."
"Has he ever mentioned her to you?"
Philip hesitated for a moment. "Yes."
"What's she like?"
"She seems like a very sweet girl." Philip rubbed his nose, smiling. "From the way Ryan talks about her, she really does sound adorable."
"Cute? ..."
Ms. Isabella gazed out at the misty rain outside the window.
Ryan had always been a soft-hearted child. When he was younger, he had adored a little kitten, and every night he would insist on feeding it and waiting for it to fall asleep before going to bed himself. Later, that kitten disappeared, and Ryan had cried for a long time. That was also when his heart condition first flared up, leading to a month-long stay in the hospital.
Is this girl as adorable as that kitten?
"Ms. Isabella, I'll go check on Ryan."
Philip stood up, concerned. This was the first time Ryan had fallen ill since his surgery. He had thought that after the heart transplant, Ryan wouldn't get sick anymore.
"Alright," Ms. Isabella said softly. "Ask him what he'd like to eat. I'll prepare it myself."
Philip walked up to the second floor and stopped at Ryan's bedroom door. He turned the doorknob, but it was locked. He knocked gently.
"Ryan, it's me."
"Go away!" came a muffled shout from inside.
Philip knocked again, smiling softly. "What happened? You know you're supposed to share your troubles with your friends."
"I said go away! Didn't you hear?!"
"Ryan, someone's here to see you." Philip raised an eyebrow. "Or maybe you don't want to talk to me, but you'd like to talk to her?"
Suddenly, there was an odd silence from behind the door.
"Hey, Ryan, she says she's a classmate of yours and insists on coming to check on you," Philip leaned against the wall, rubbing his nose with a grin. "She's downstairs right now, talking to Ms. Isabella in the living room."
The silence continued.
Then—
"…Who is it?" Ryan's voice sounded strange, even through the door.
"I think she said her name was 'Emily.'"
Bam! The door swung open from the inside!
Ryan's hair was disheveled, his face pale, and his expression dark. He glared at Philip, his voice laced with anger. "Tell her to leave! Tell her I never want to see her again!"
"You should tell her yourself," Philip sighed. "I can't bring myself to say something so hurtful."
Ryan shot him a fierce look and stormed toward the intricately designed French railing, peering down into the living room. The room was empty—nothing but the fluttering white curtains and the silhouette of his mother standing by the window. There was no visiting girl in sight.
"You lied to me!"
He turned back, livid, his voice a low growl, furious at Philip's deceit and also at the sudden, unbearable wave of disappointment that washed over him.
Philip walked into the bedroom and sat on the large bed, smiling at Ryan, who stood fuming by the door. "Didn't you say you didn't want to see her? Seems like you didn't see her, but you look like you're ready to punch me instead."
Ryan scowled, walked into the room, and threw himself onto the sofa, lying flat with his eyes closed, silent.
"Heartbroken, are we?" Philip chuckled, rubbing his nose. Only a broken heart could make Ryan this sulky and irritable.
"If you want a fight, just say so!" Ryan's voice came through gritted teeth.
"So, it really is heartbreak," Philip shook his head with a low laugh. "To think you'd be ready to fight a friend over a girl."
"You—!" Ryan clenched his fists, the veins on his temples bulging. "I am not heartbroken! You hear me?!"
"Alright, alright, not heartbroken. Just a little upset over a girl, that's all." Philip's eyes drifted to the marble floor where Ryan's phone lay in pieces. He bent down to pick it up, putting the battery back in. "So upset you can't even stand the sound of her voice?"
"Philip!" Ryan's eyes flared with anger. "Enough!"
Philip powered the phone back on, and to his amusement, the screen showed over twenty unread messages and more than a dozen missed calls. He checked the sender—they all came from the same person:
Emily.
He stared at Ryan.
"Why aren't you answering her calls? Maybe this is all just a misunderstanding."
"It's not."
"Not a misunderstanding?"
"…No."