Unfulfilled Love and Regret: A Tragic Love Story
The surroundings were shrouded in a foggy, white mist. The furnishings inside the room felt familiar, like home, yet strangely unfamiliar. As I walked deeper inside, everything around me was bathed in white, leaving me disoriented and uncertain. It was then that a girl dressed in white, from head to toe, appeared by the white bed.
Who was she? My mind struggled to recall her name, yet she seemed familiar, even though she felt like a stranger standing before me. I approached her, but she remained silent, lying down with her back to me. Her face was hidden, and my thoughts were in turmoil.
I circled the bed, admiring her, and then sat down where she could see me. She raised her head to look at me, her eyes glistening with moisture.
Those eyes—I was sure I had seen them somewhere before, for they were so bright, drawing me in. She closed her eyes, revealing a delicate face, which filled me with a boyish longing.
I gently caressed her face, leaned in, and closed my eyes to kiss her. Our lips barely touched, and my face began to flush, but neither of us moved to take things further. After an awkward pause, she lightly bit my lower lip. I opened my eyes and gazed at her. She smiled adorably, then closed her eyes again. I lay down beside her, embracing her, and kissed her once more. My tongue slid into her mouth, brushing against her teeth, prying them open and slipping inside. Our tongues entwined, wrestling and lingering together, as I pulled her closer, pressing her tightly against me. Her body was pressed against mine, our heartbeats racing, our entire beings burning with a feverish heat, yearning for release. I kissed along her cheek down to her earlobe, knowing it was a sensitive spot for girls. The sound of her breath was the perfect aphrodisiac, impossible to resist, impossible to forget. My hand traced along her back, slipping under her clothes, and the smoothness of her skin was a divine gift, a blessing from a merciful god. I wanted to claim her body for myself, not allowing anyone else to take it. The skin on her back felt familiar, and I began to explore further, seeking the most secret place of a woman.
Following the line of her skirt, I touched her thigh and slid my hand up, lifting her skirt and using my fingers to reach that mysterious place, completing the motion in one smooth stroke. Her breathing grew more intense, and she clung to me, biting my shoulder, telling me I shouldn’t. If I were a good boy, I might have felt guilty and called myself a coward, but unfortunately, I wasn’t. I pushed my hand between her legs, determined and unrelenting. It was damp and radiated heat. The stifling sensation was unbearable, and I wanted to rid myself of the damned clothes that were in my way.
Imagine a child who drops his candy on the ground, and he looks at the sweet treat covered in dirt—how does he feel? That feeling of not being able to taste it is called disappointment. Perhaps I was too impatient, not seizing the right moment, and I didn’t get what should have rightfully been mine. That feeling is called failure. I cursed myself, not for being shameless, but for my eager heart.
She said to me, “You’re not serious.”
Those words stopped me in my tracks, freezing me like a statue. She released her arms from around me and, still panting, walked away. I stared at the white ceiling, my mind blank. All the energy drained from me, and my head turned weakly to the side as I watched her white figure gradually disappear into the foggy whiteness.
I opened my eyes, and before me was still a blank white wall. The foggy, misty feeling was gone; everything was so real. I had woken up.
It was all just a dream. There was never a white mist, never that girl who captivated me, never that sensual body. My mind was empty, and as I struggled to fill it, a line of poetry surfaced. Who had given this to me? Was it just a figment of my dream?
“Spring dreams leave a trace, yet cannot be held. Nothing truly desired can be attained. A serious endeavor dismissed, a fleeting joy reduced to emptiness.”
She made me remember someone, someone I didn’t want to remember, yet couldn’t forget.
Part Two
Miao Siyu—two years later, memories of her were scattered like fragments, and all I could pick up were scenes of kissing and embracing. Nothing truly significant came to mind. I tried to recall more about her, but the more I thought, the more confused I became, and the more I loathed myself.
Love is like a shackle, trapping a few people, locking away a few emotions, and it can all happen naturally. I had been heartbroken, locked in the prison of a broken heart, waiting for rescue. No one came, so I had to save myself.
I didn’t particularly like Zhao Kai, even finding his actions despicable. But I never showed it in front of him—I was a hypocrite. He could stick close to Mu Hanxue while simultaneously being in love with Ouyang Chen. He juggled two girls flawlessly, but he trusted only me, though I didn’t deserve his trust.
I wanted to tell Xiao Chen about his filthy behavior, had already planned the words to break them up and the sweet words to comfort Xiao Chen—I was a good person. But when I saw Xiao Chen smiling sweetly at him, I hesitated. They couldn’t be together; he wasn’t a loyal person. As her friend, I should have made Xiao Chen sad, should have torn things apart between them. But I couldn’t bring myself to shatter that happy smile, to let Xiao Chen drown once in the river of love, to let her be heartbroken once—she would grow from it. I wasn’t a good friend. I’m sorry, Xiao Chen.
I admired Zhao Kai’s courage and carefree attitude, but it didn’t mean I liked him. I once asked him if he felt guilty towards Xiao Chen, and he said, “Good guys finish last; bad boys win girls’ hearts.” Girls often say all men are scum, and sometimes, as a man, I felt ashamed. But we do what we have to do because of something extra on our bodies.
Zhao Kai and Mu Hanxue would kiss and embrace in front of me and Miao Siyu, acting as if nothing was wrong. I watched the awkwardness on Miao Siyu’s face—she really was adorable. I should have forgotten the old feelings; I should have let go of my unrequited love; I shouldn’t have felt heartache.
When I got to know Mu Hanxue better, I smiled—truly smiled—and wished her well. Xiao Chen, I won’t interfere in your affairs anymore.
Mu Hanxue was a smart girl. She knew what kind of person he was, and she knew someone like Xiao Chen existed, but she loved him. She believed that in the end, Zhao Kai would choose her and not Xiao Chen. There was nothing wrong with that—everyone has the right to pursue happiness. Whoever fits stays; whoever doesn’t, goodbye, and never see each other again. No matter how heartless it seems, it must be done. Fairness is for one side, not something that can be evenly distributed.
The four of us often hung out together, unconsciously eating together, singing together, attending classes together.
KTV is a great place—dark, enclosed, full of mystery and new stories. I was never good at the game of truth or dare.
I hated the truth and hated dares even more. They asked me if I had feelings for Siyu, and I said yes, though my mind must have been clouded at the time. I was sitting on the sofa, and Siyu sat on my lap, facing me, her hands wrapped around my neck, while I held her waist. She told me, “I like you.”
Zhao Kai and Hanxue pretended not to see and continued singing love songs. I looked at Siyu’s smiling face—she was very close, extremely close.
Not every girl has a natural scent. Some do, and it becomes more noticeable when they sweat—a unique charm that draws in their prey. Siyu had this quality, like a pheromone escaping, luring me, the foolish prey, into her trap.
Our foreheads touched, and I looked at her, and she looked at me, and we stayed like that for a long time. The love song reached its climax, and we could even hear each other’s heartbeat. I hugged her, pressing our bodies together, and whispered in her ear.
“Can I kiss you?” I had thought about this question for a long time because I hadn’t had the courage to kiss anyone before.
“No, I have a boyfriend,” she said with a smile, still holding me. I could feel her warmth and scent, but I was deeply disappointed, suppressing the physical excitement—I didn’t want to be the third wheel.
Part Three
There are no remedies for regret in this world. If you’ve done something wrong and can’t take it back, then be brave, face it, and keep your chin up.
My whole body was burning up, feeling stifled under the weight. I needed some kind of compensation. I only kissed her once, a kiss that left an invisible mark of affection on her face, and her cheeks turned even redder. She pulled my neck closer, closed her eyes, tilted her head, and kissed me. I was taken aback for a moment, then started to respond.
She kissed me first, I rationalized, but deep down, I was overjoyed. The first kiss felt fresh and new, listening to her breath, inhaling her scent, my mind went blank, wishing time would stop.
I followed her lead, passively, as she was more experienced than I was. Without any prelude, she directly slid her tongue into my mouth, searching for its partner. I didn’t know how to French kiss, and I felt she didn’t really know either, because her tongue was a bit too playful.
Our tongues chased each other wildly, our breaths mingling, the warm air teasing our faces, and suddenly, the world became a bit crazier. I was sucking on her tongue as if it were candy, sweet and irresistible, not wanting to let go. She forcefully pulled my tongue into her mouth, sucking hard, and soon, the base of my tongue started to ache, and my mind began to clear. We finally broke apart, our faces flushed. She said, “You’re awful,” and then hugged me tightly.
Zhao Kai and Hanxue had been watching us the whole time. I looked at them and said with disdain, “We’re all the same.”
From that moment on, I wasn’t alone anymore. There was always a Xiaoyu sticking to me. Who could tell that I was the third wheel? As long as no one knew, we were openly together.
But deep down, I knew we wouldn’t last long. I always asked her about her boyfriend, and she always gave vague answers, brushing me off. After a week, I still didn’t know his name, only that they had been together for two years.
Two years—if it were me, I would have loved her passionately, and if we broke up, it would have felt like the end of the world. But she didn’t seem to care at all, and I started to dislike her. If she could fall for me so quickly, she could just as quickly fall for someone else. But I couldn’t leave her now; I liked kissing her. That feeling was like an addiction—once you’ve tasted it, you can’t let go, willing to lose everything for just one more time. I liked walking her home at night. She would hold me, press her face against my back, and make me say that I loved her. Along the way, many envious, disdainful eyes watched us, and I felt happy. I seemed to forget what kind of relationship we had, fantasizing that she was my childhood sweetheart and I was her inseparable companion. One pure and adorable, the other handsome and charming—it’s hard to part when we’re together, but being apart feels even worse. She rented an apartment near the training center with Hanxue, who often came home late, so I could walk her inside.
The moment the door closed, I hugged her, and she let me. She kissed me on the cheek and called me a “little rascal.” She kept her eyes open as we kissed. When I opened mine, she was still looking at me, as if mocking my greed, and I felt a bit disappointed. I had heard that you should close your eyes when kissing as a sign of loyalty to love. How ridiculous—where did we have any loyalty to love?
The night was always dark, cold, and lonely. When I got home, I showered and lay in bed, but I couldn’t sleep. The window was open, the breeze was blowing, and my heart felt lost. Love is a luxury; I always thought I had enough to buy it, but all I bought was a counterfeit. Xiaoyu, what are you to me? I thought that if we stayed together long enough, you would break up with him and be with me. But this wishful thinking was just my fantasy. Dreams wear you out if they last too long, and waking up is even more exhausting. Short-term pain is better than long-term agony—I need to leave her. How to leave her, I still don’t know.
The moon in the sky was blurry, obscured by the window screen—someone had been crying, it seemed. I’m strong and rarely cry. Even when my grandmother passed away and was cremated, I didn’t cry. I held my head high, refusing to let tears fall, even though sobs surrounded me. I knew she wouldn’t want to see me cry; she loved me the most.
Isn’t there supposed to be a goddess, Chang’e, on the moon? Why have I never seen her? This kind of trick to fool children deceived me for years, and it’s still deceiving others now. Whether it’s mythology or fairy tales, they only shine in books; in reality, they don’t hold up to scrutiny. I’m tired and want to sleep. I wish that everything—everything—was just an illusion.
Once again, I’ve lied to myself.
Part Four
The training course had ended, and she was finally leaving. Was this the end for me, or perhaps the beginning?
I rode my electric bike to take her to the station. She refused to get off, hugging me tightly from behind, asking me to stay in touch often. I promised I would. We embraced one last time, saying our final goodbyes—just an embrace, one last embrace. I watched as she carried her bag, turning back at every step, until she disappeared into the crowd. I stared blankly at the spot where she vanished.
In a sea of faces, people from all corners of the world, not a single one was familiar to me. From that moment on, I was alone again—eating alone, studying alone, wandering the city streets with my headphones on, pretending to be happy. I felt a sense of loss, as if something was missing. I was exhausted; I needed to go home and rest.
I rode past the turn I should have taken, forgetting to turn, and just kept riding straight until I stopped at a plaza. People were flying kites, and I found a spot to sit down and look up. The kites soared higher and higher into the wind, the lines stretching longer and longer, drawing a curve in the sky before disappearing, leaving just a dot high above. I wondered, if I let go of the string, where would the kite fly?
Today was overcast, with a strong wind blowing in dark clouds from the north. The wind grew stronger, and the elderly men flying kites were starting to pack up. But what about me?
There was no one at home, and I didn’t want to go back. My phone rang again, but I didn’t check it, my mind a blank. What should I do?
Did I love her? I tried to think about it carefully, but I couldn’t make sense of it. I knew exactly what we had done, but it didn’t feel like love—it felt more like an affair. She kissed me with her eyes open, she had a boyfriend, she went home and left me behind, and I was the third party. That’s all I could think about. I was a jerk, and she was shameless—neither of us was any good.
I pulled out my phone and read through the seven or eight messages: “I’m home now. Will you miss me?” “I’ve fallen in love with you; I can’t live without you.” “I’ll come back during the holidays. You have to pick me up, okay?” “Why aren’t you replying? Answer me!” “Do you think I was just playing with you? I admit, at first, I just wanted to have fun, but then I really fell in love with you.” “My boyfriend treats me well and takes good care of me. But over time, I’ve come to see him more as a brother, and my feelings for him are more like family. Give me some time, and I’ll break up with him. Though it will hurt him, I’m doing it for his happiness and for ours…”
I smiled as I finished reading the messages. It was time to end things—this wasn’t the love I wanted. I once dreamed of a simple love, like growing up with a childhood friend, playing together from childhood to adulthood, naturally staying together, inseparable, getting married, and receiving everyone’s blessings. Or perhaps I’d meet a girl I liked, quietly fall for her, and gradually she’d like me too. We’d be together, and even if we were far apart, our hearts would remain united, never to be separated. But love is never like what you imagine. I didn’t have a childhood friend, no siblings, I never ended up with a girl I liked, and even my first crush was just silent admiration—I never even told her I liked her. I was a coward.
I replied to Xiaoyu’s message: “I’ve thought it over carefully, and I don’t love you. I was just heartbroken and needed comfort. I was never serious about you. I’ve hurt you, and whether you hate me or resent me, if you ever see me again, you can slap me or make me kneel—I’ll accept it. Your boyfriend loves you very much, and I’ve wronged him too. I don’t want you to break up with him. You should cherish someone who loves you so much. Love should eventually grow into familial affection. Love doesn’t last forever, but family does. I’ll delete your number and won’t contact you again. I’m sorry.”
“Is that really what you think?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t receive any more messages from her. Light rain began to fall from the sky, forming small splashes in front of me. Now, like everyone else, I was soaked, looking pathetic. I watched as people ran down the street, shielding their heads, as children laughed at them from under the eaves, and as the rich sat in their cars, oblivious. I laughed too.
When the rain stopped, the sky remained overcast, and I headed home.
Someone once said that you need as long to forget someone as you spent loving them. I don’t know who came up with that, or maybe that saying just doesn’t apply to me. No matter how much time passes, I can only forget partially, never completely. I’m not heartless.
Part Five
A year later, I decided to attend the training course again, determined to study seriously this time. One day, I saw Hanxue. She had changed—she looked more mature. I asked her if she was still clinging to Zhao Kai, and her answer was still firm. She told me that Xiaoyu had called me a jerk, and I said I deserved it.
I was accepted into a university in the South, where the sun rarely shines, and the sky is often gloomy, with a constant drizzle. Everything is damp, with puddles everywhere, making it hard to walk without weaving around them. I looked down at my reflection in the water, blurry and indistinct. My hair had grown long, my beard untrimmed—I had grown up and was no longer the naive young man I once was.
I stepped over my reflection and continued on my way. The road ahead is long, and I’m persistent, searching for something. A career counselor once said that love is like drinking cola: each time you drink it, you fall in love. But when you finally meet the person you’re destined for, will you still have any love left to give?
I replied, “The poem Everlasting Longing—‘Illusions and Reflections’: A flower in the mirror, the moon in the water—seeming to be yet not, impossible to grasp. Soft light ripples across the waves, and she leans by the window, gazing upward. She no longer takes joy in dressing up. A blade of grass pens three lines of longing. A pigeon rests on the railing. Dust layers the small door, insects busily swarm in the corner. Where does the returning traveler hasten to? Another sunset, another heartbreak.”
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
