Jenny tapped her fingers nervously on the side of her bag as she sat in the clean, minimalist lobby of Aurora Sports Solutions, a local startup specializing in sports gear innovation. It was her third round of interviews—this one with the department head.

  The door opened. A woman in her early thirties walked in with a bright smile.

  “Jenny Lai, right? Thank you for waiting. Come in.”

  The interview was fluid, even warm. Her credentials as an athlete caught their attention—especially her discipline and understanding of athlete needs.

  Two days ter, an email nded in her inbox:

  Subject: Job Offer – Aurora Sports Solutions

  Jenny blinked twice.

  A soft gasp escaped her lips. Then she covered her mouth with her hand.

  She got the job.

  Three Years LaterThe summer sun over Taipei was less intimidating now—Jenny had grown used to the rhythm of adult life.

  She stood beside a long white table at an outdoor booth—part of a university sports fair where Aurora was one of the sponsors. Her ID hung from a nyard, her shirt neatly tucked, clipboard in hand. Her hair was tied in a ponytail now, and the cast from long ago was only a memory.

  Jenny was now a Product Development Assistant. She helped athletes test and refine new gear—particurly shooting gloves and support braces. It paid decently, and more importantly, it gave her a way to stay in the world of sports without being consumed by it.

  When she wasn’t working, she trained quietly—entering local competitions under a new name. No fanfare. No rivalry. Just her and the target.

  She sent money home regurly. Her siblings were both in college now. Her mother ran a small online store with her help.

  “You're working too hard,” Victor would tease on their rare video calls.

  “Not really,” she’d say with a grin. “Just enough to keep moving.”

  Across the city, in a high-end café in Da’an District, Li Wei sat across from a woman in a lic dress, her hair curled to perfection.

  It was his third blind date this year.

  “Your mother said you were into basketball?” the woman asked, sipping her iced coffee.

  “I used to py,” Li Wei replied, keeping his tone neutral. “Now I handle project development at MediaTek.”

  The conversation was polite, but stiff. The woman smiled a lot, ughed when expected, and kept gncing at her phone.

  Li Wei felt detached.

  Later that night, he sat in his apartment, scrolling through photos on his old phone. He stopped at one—blurry, taken through a half-closed curtain. Jenny, eating dumplings on her terrace, headphones on.

  He chuckled bitterly.

  She didn’t even know I took that.

  He set the phone down, rubbing his temples.

  Back in her unit, Jenny looked over a training schedule she was designing for a young athlete they were sponsoring. Her new trainee reminded her a bit of herself—quiet, driven, underestimated.

  Suddenly, her phone buzzed.

  A message from Victor.

  Victor:

  "Guess who I saw today? ??"

  Jenny:

  "Don’t say it."

  Victor:

  "Too te. It was him. Looked like he lost weight."

  She stared at the screen. Then typed:

  Jenny:

  "Hope he’s doing okay."

  And that was it.

  No name mentioned. No further questions.

  They’d both changed, chased their own paths. The distance was no longer just physical—it was time, choices, silence.

  They hadn’t crossed paths in three years.

  But fate rarely forgets unfinished stories.