He Doesn't Know I Was His Crush

On the day I received my stomach cancer diagnosis, my boyfriend of eight years ended our relationship.

He announced his engagement to my sister Clara, turning me into the biggest joke.

He claimed he had loved Clara for years and that I was merely a stand-in.

Yet he couldn't even tell my face apart from Clara's.

How could he be so sure who his true love was?

By the time he learned the truth, it was far too late.

1

On the day doctors confirmed my cancer was terminal, I got a call from my boyfriend of eight years.

"Hannah, we're done. I'm marrying someone else," he said.

His tone was calm, as if he were discussing something trivial.

I crumpled the diagnosis paper in my hand, my nose stinging with unshed tears.

"Fine. Thanks for everything these past years. Congrats on your upcoming wedding," I replied.

What else could a dying person do?

I sat in the hospital corridor for hours, so long that my agent called, frantic.

"Hannah, where are you? Don't let the paparazzi catch you like this! Your new movie's about to hit theaters. Don't mess this up!"

I reassured her repeatedly, then looked up the highest-rated Time Post Office on Yelp and took a cab there.

The young woman at the counter recognized me and excitedly asked for an autograph.

"Hannah, I'm a huge fan! I can't wait to see your new movie!" she said. "Our fan club will always have your back!"

I smiled and ruffled her hair, knowing she had no idea I had no tomorrow left.

After signing, I began writing a letter.

There were things I wanted to tell Kenneth.

Like how I fell for him at first sight when I was fifteen.

If I had confessed to him sooner, would things have ended differently?

Would I have avoided becoming his lover, only to be discarded without hesitation after eight years?

I chose to have the post office mail the letter a year later. The young woman asked why I didn't just tell him in person.

I forced a smile through my tears and pinched her cheek. "It's too late for that."

A month later, I won Best Actress for my new film.

At the awards ceremony, I delivered my acceptance speech despite the excruciating pain that kept me awake all night. I nearly collapsed on stage.

Kenneth, as the film's producer, was invited to speak.

He smiled warmly and announced his engagement to Clara.

"I've loved her for so many years. Now I get to marry her, and I'm beyond happy. I want the whole world to know I love her," he said.

The audience cheered. I clapped with a smile, swallowing the blood in my mouth.

Even expected news could break a heart.

I stole eight years of Kenneth's love with a face identical to Clara's. Now it was time to give it all back.

2

That night, the internet exploded.

Kenneth's announcement made me a laughingstock. Love was impossible to hide, and over our eight years together, I often posted subtle hints of our relationship on social media.

Now those posts were proof of my one-sided obsession with the CEO of Cooper Entertainment.

"Good lord, have you seen Hannah's old posts? So cringeworthy."

"'The breeze at fifteen was gentle, and you in your school uniform outshone the world.' Hilarious. Everyone knows she dropped out of middle school."

"Does she have mental issues? Her face looks scarier by the day."

"How did an uneducated streamer even break into the industry?"

Some fans defended me.

"Hannah's acting is incredible. Speculating about her love life is low. And what's wrong with being a streamer? She was forced to drop out," one wrote.

But millions of vicious comments drowned them out.

I hadn't eaten all day. My stomach burned, and the taste of blood rose in my throat.

Still, I forced myself to read every comment and respond to as many fan messages as I could.

Then I posted a statement on social media, announcing my permanent exit from the entertainment industry.

I powered off my phone and went to the agency the next day to handle my contract termination.

My agent was waiting at the entrance, sweating bullets. "You're killing me! I never should've given you control of your social media. Are you out of your mind? Do you know how much this will cost? Mr. Cooper is waiting in his office. You explain it to him."

I froze. Kenneth was always busy. Even our breakup was just a phone call. I didn't expect him to handle my case in person.

If I'd known he'd be here, I would've dressed up. This was likely our last meeting.

But all I could do was face him with my pale, haggard appearance and knock on his office door.

Kenneth stood by the window, tall and strikingly handsome.

He saw me, his expression unchanging.

"You sure about quitting?" he asked.

My hands, hidden in my sleeves, clenched tight.

"Sorry, Mr. Cooper. After all these years, I need a break," I said.

Kenneth signed my termination contract with swift precision.

"Probably for the best. You've always been reserved, keeping everything bottled up. Travel, make some friends. You might find it rewarding. I'll cover the penalty fees as compensation for our time together. If you need help later, just reach out."

I struggled to breathe, my body trembling uncontrollably, barely maintaining a calm facade.

How could Kenneth face me so composedly? How could he still be so kind, so kind it chilled me to the bone?

Did our years together leave no mark on his heart at all?

That day, I stumbled home in a daze and told my doctor I wanted to stop treatment. He tried to persuade me for a long time, but I firmly refused.

Then I wrote my will, leaving all my assets to Clara.

She'd probably scoff when she found out. By then, she'd be married to Kenneth and wouldn't care for my possessions.

I couldn't imagine her reaction and gave a bitter smile.

She despised me, and I didn't like her either. But she was my last family in this world.

I just hoped we wouldn't be sisters in the next life.

Then I felt lost. I was nearing twenty-seven, yet I hadn't found my place in life. Now my story was ending.

I thought I was loved. I was such a fool, thrilled for nothing all those years.

3

The year I met Kenneth, I had just turned eighteen and was a small-time streamer on a platform.

I didn't flirt or sing or dance. I just sat there playing video games.

Since I wasn't short on cash, I rarely chatted with viewers and didn't smile much, often sporting a grumpy expression.

My streams were always quiet.

Plenty of people stopped by at first, drawn to my pretty face, but they left quickly after realizing I ignored them and wasn't easy to charm.

I didn't care and kept doing my thing.

At the end of the month, when the platform sent out payments, I noticed an extra hundred thousand in my account.

Confused, I wondered who was foolish enough to send me that much money.

I logged in and checked, discovering I had a top supporter named "User12067," a default name assigned by the system.

After the platform's cut, he had sent me two hundred thousand. His watch time showed he'd viewed every single stream from start to finish for the past week.

I messaged him right away.

"Hey, you don't need to send me gifts. I'm not hurting for money. Give me your account number, and I'll refund you my share," I wrote.

After a while, he replied. "No worries. I've got plenty of money. Keep it."

I didn't expect him to be so stubborn.

"I don't do private chats, meetups, or relationships," I wrote back.

He responded quickly. "Don't worry. I don't have any ulterior motives. I just enjoy watching you play a game. Hope I'm not bothering you."

Enjoy watching me play a game? What a weird hobby.

I was terrible at gaming, always messing up and costing my team. Even I knew watching me could make someone mad enough to lose years off their life.

If he was into my looks, that didn't add up either. He seemed rich enough to meet plenty of beautiful women.

Whatever. I decided he was just some rich guy with more money than sense.

But a week later, I couldn't take it anymore.

This top supporter sent me ten million, catapulting me to the top of the platform's new streamer leaderboard.

I only streamed to kill time. Now, with all sorts of weirdos flooding my chat thanks to the platform's boosted traffic, I groaned in frustration.

"Is this the streamer who got ten million? She's hot, but so boring," one viewer commented.

"What kind of whale is this guy? Send me a hundred bucks to prove you're legit," another wrote.

I'd had enough. That night, I swallowed my pride and messaged "User12067."

"Bro, I was wrong. I was too full of myself before. Tell me what you want, and I'll make it happen. Just please stop sending me gifts," I pleaded.

His chat bubble showed he was typing for a long time before he replied.

"Can we meet in person? You pick the place. Don't worry, I'm not a creep," he wrote.

The thought of meeting some greasy, balding middle-aged guy made my head ache, but I was out of options.

I sent him a time and place to meet.

In my mind, I swore I'd quit streaming for good after this.

3

On the day of the meetup, I froze as a strikingly handsome young man walked toward me.

My heart pounded wildly, my mind blank.

I had seen this guy before, when I was fifteen.

That year, I went to Clara's high school to drop off some stuff for her. It started pouring midway, and while I shielded her materials against my chest, I got soaked.

He, wearing a blue-and-white school uniform, handed me an umbrella in the rain.

I never knew his name, but I never forgot the flutter in my chest.

I thought it would be a crush that faded with time.

Three years, over a thousand days and nights, and yet someone I'd only met once had reappeared.

His face was cool and composed, but his voice was warm.

"Are you... Hannah? I'm Kenneth. " he said.

He didn't remember me.

Flustered, I nodded, pressing a hand to my chest as if I could hide the deafening thump of my heartbeat.

He smiled, his lips curving. "You're nothing like I imagined. I thought you'd be a bold girl, but you're so shy."

I cringed, remembering how I'd called him "bro" online, and stammered. "I just... haven't talked to people much lately."

He looked puzzled.

"Don't you hang out with classmates at school? You seem young. Are you in college?" he asked. "If that's too personal, you don't have to answer."

I didn't want to hide anything from him. After a moment's hesitation, I spoke. "I turned eighteen in late October, but I dropped out in eighth grade."

I worried he'd think I was some delinquent, scared he'd judge me, and watched him nervously.

His gaze remained kind, like he was looking at a younger sister.

"So why stream?" he asked.

I mumbled, a bit embarrassed. "I was just bored and kind of rebellious."

Kenneth's eyes twinkled with amusement. "You don't strike me as a rebellious girl."

His constant "girl" comments made my cheeks burn.

That day, Kenneth and I talked for hours. He treated me to my favorite spicy pickled fish.

I kept huffing from the heat, and he handed me a glass of warm water.

"Kenneth, how'd you know I love this dish?" I asked.

He looked at me, his gaze steady. "Last Thursday, during your stream, you complained about your lunch takeout. Said if you weren't so lazy, you'd have gone out for this exact spicy fish head."

I nearly choked on my water. He actually paid attention to my streams.

Then I remembered the fortune he'd sent me. I dug my bank card out of my pocket and shoved it toward him.

"This is my share. I can't take your money," I said.

Kenneth pushed the card back to me.

"If I took it, it'd be like giving the platform millions for free," he said. "I went through all this to meet you, Hannah. If you really feel bad, just keep me company and chat sometimes."

And just like that, I somehow ended up with Kenneth's contact info.

Thinking back to what I'd told "User12067"-no chats, no meetups, no dating- I felt like I'd slapped my own face.

If it was Kenneth, hesitating for even a second would've been plain stupid.

4

Kenneth started texting me now and then, oblivious to how much my heart raced.

I liked him more than I ever thought possible.

At fifteen, I was insecure, in pain, and hopeless. The boy who walked toward me with an umbrella in the pouring rain settled into my heart forever.

I came from an academic family. My mom and dad were both university professors, but I despised and feared school, dropping out early.

I was born without a uterus, a congenital defect.

In eighth grade, someone spread that news, and from then on, I faced unimaginable violence and bullying.

Teenagers could be innocent yet vicious.

My desk was carved with hateful curses. My books were tossed in the trash.

I avoided the bathroom because girls would pin me down and yank off my pants.

No one helped. Everyone shunned me.

Kenneth was the one bright spot in my bleak youth.

So when he confessed his feelings, I agreed without a second thought.

It happened to be a rainy day. Kenneth stood under an umbrella outside my apartment building.

I got his text, didn't bother changing out of my pajamas, and ran out in slippers to bring him inside.

"It's pouring. What's so urgent you had to say it in person? Come on, get to my place," I said.

Kenneth wiped the rain off his face, his gaze soft and lingering as it settled on me.

"I just really wanted to see you, so I came," he said.

I froze mid-step on the stairs, turning to stare at him.

His ears turned pink.

"Hannah, will you be with me? I'm serious," he said.

I wanted to say yes right away, but a wave of anxiety hit me, and I hesitated.

"Come inside first..." I said.

Kenneth looked disappointed but didn't push, following me into my apartment.

A family photo sat on the entryway cabinet.

Kenneth studied it for a moment before asking. "You have a sister? You two look so alike. Twins?"

Hearing him mention Clara caught me off guard. My feelings about her were always complicated.

"We're not twins. Her name's Clara, two years older, studying at a college out of state," I said.

Next to the family photo was Clara's high school graduation picture.

Kenneth mentioned casually. "Your sister went to Stonebridge High School? That's wild. I graduated from there too, a year ahead of her."

I already knew he and Clara went to the same high school. Without that coincidence, I wouldn't have met him.

But looking back, I realized how naive I was.

Lost in the thrill of his confession and my insecurity about dropping out, I missed how odd it was that he kept bringing up Clara.

I grabbed a dry towel and handed it to him.

Kenneth took my hand, sitting on the couch and looking up at me.

"Can you tell me what's holding you back, Hannah? Do you not like me?" he asked.

His earnest gaze broke me, and I blurted out, giving up.

"Kenneth, what do you even want from me? I'll be honest. I can't sleep with you, and I can't give you kids. I was born with a defect."

Before I finished, Kenneth pulled me into his arms, his chin resting on my shoulder.

"I don't need any of that, Hannah. I just want your love. I like you because you're you," he said. "You don't have to do anything for me. Just being by my side makes me lucky enough."

What was there to hesitate about? I craved love so badly. My face flushed as I whispered in his ear. "Then I'm giving you one shot. If you let me down, I'm done with you."

But I lost completely from the start.

Kenneth was my only safe haven, my only way out, but I wasn't his one true choice.

I thought luck had smiled on me. But in the end, I cried until my tears ran dry, got nothing but heartbreak, and never dared look back.