Trust Was Just His Indifference

1 At our graduation dinner, Aaron and his debate partner Judith traded insults through me, one chair apart. Judith was moving to Atlanta. Aaron sneered she wouldn't last three months. She told him to mind his own business. He smirked, dropping a peeled shrimp in my bowl. "As if she's ever won once." As dinner ended, Aaron slid a manila envelope to me. "Give this to Judith tomorrow." Inside was a complete Atlanta relocation guide I'd compiled for him: rental checklists, red-flag warnings, hospital addresses, transit routes. He frowned defensively. "Don't overthink it. She's idiotically naive. If she gets scammed, she'll just cry to me." Last month, when I told him I'd accepted a job in New York, he'd casually said I should take care of myself. Pinching my cheek, he'd said, "You're different. Wherever you go, I never have to worry about you." I used to think that was trust. Only later did I realize he never worried about me leaving because he never planned on following me. Meanwhile, for the girl he mocked as useless, he'd mapped out an entire city before she even boarded the plane. … Dinner wasn't even over when Judith sent a text to our group chat: Tell a certain someone to take his trash guide back. I don't need it. Aaron glanced at his phone, then pushed another freshly peeled shrimp toward me. "Tell her she can take it or leave it. But if some sketchy landlord rips her off, she better not call me crying in the middle of the night." I didn't pick up my fork. That guide was something he had asked me to make two weeks ago. He had dumped seven or eight apartment listings into my inbox, saying Judith was moving to Atlanta alone and lacked the brains to figure it out, so I should look into them for her. I spent hours checking subway lines, hospital proximity, building management reviews, and commute times. I even called the landlords to confirm which way the windows faced. Aaron had replied with a single kissing emoji. My Nora is the most reliable. A second later, another text followed: She has a terrible morning temper. Is a forty-minute commute too long for her? That night, my own defense thesis was still waiting to be revised. Now that Judith refused to take it, he wanted me to hand-deliver it to her. Aaron tapped his knuckles against the table. "What are you daydreaming about?" "Do you remember what time my train leaves the day after tomorrow?" I asked. He blinked, caught off guard. "The afternoon?" "Seven-forty in the morning." "That early?" He frowned, his tone laced with subtle blame, as if I had failed to inform him. Yet a month ago, I had sent him a screenshot of my ticket. Three days ago, I asked him if he could walk me to the station. He had merely replied: We'll see. Judith is leaving that day too. Just make sure your times don't clash. He remembered Judith's train to Atlanta was at ten-twenty, but he couldn't remember that mine was more than two hours earlier. Across the table, Judith swirled her glass of wine. "Nora, tell him not to think a stupid spreadsheet is going to touch my heart. The first thing I'm doing when I hit Atlanta is blocking every single one of his contacts." Aaron scoffed. "Tell her to hide her office address well, too. Otherwise, when she gets fired, she'll still need me to ship her luggage back." And just like that, they were off again. Back in our sophomore year before the state debate tournament, I was doubled over with crippling stomach pain, yet I still ran back and forth four times to manage their logistics. When they won, Aaron hung the gold medal around my neck, pulling me into a tight hug. "Our Nora is the real MVP. Without you, the two of us would have fallen apart ages ago." I used to think being "important" meant being cherished. Looking back now, I was more like a wooden shim wedged under a wobbly table leg. Unnoticed when things were stable, but the moment I was pulled away, the whole table would collapse. Aaron peeled another shrimp and held it to my lips. "Still pouting?" I turned my face away. He didn't get angry. Instead, he draped his arm casually over the back of my chair, leaning in close with a dropped voice. "Alright, my bad. How long do you want me to coax you today? Is half an hour enough? If not, I'll extend the timer." The others at the table chuckled, teasing that Aaron always knew how to handle me. His thumb brushed lightly over my earlobe. "It's just New York. Once you get settled, I'll come visit you." For a fraction of a second, I almost let myself be swayed again. The next moment, he pushed the thick envelope back into my arms. "Give this to Judith before you leave. Just don't let her know I was the one who forced it on her." I placed the envelope firmly back in front of him. "Give it to her yourself." He raised an eyebrow. "Jealous again?" "No." "Then what's with the attitude? She and I have known each other for four years. Busting each other's strategist balls is just how we talk. If I actually had feelings for her, would you even be sitting here?" He spoke with such breezy confidence, making it seem as though I were the one with the filthy mind. I didn't bother arguing. "Aaron, let's break up." The smile on his face froze for a fraction of a second before he leaned back into his chair with a lazy smirk. "Using a breakup to scare me on graduation night? You really know how to pick your timing." "I'm not trying to scare you." "Right, sure you're not." He picked up my water glass, took a sip, and set it down. "I'll give you three days to cool off. Three days later, I'll come to New York to pick you up. Just don't end up crying that I didn't come running." Judith let out a dramatic gag from across the table. "Could you two flex your romance somewhere else?" Aaron casually crumpled a napkin and tossed it at her. When I stood up, he merely raised his eyes, covering the untouched shrimp in my bowl and sliding it aside. He looked completely certain that after taking a walk to cool my head, I would come crawling right back. I grabbed my bag and walked out of the restaurant. Behind me, the laughter didn't miss a single beat. The following afternoon, the debate team assembled at the main auditorium for their final graduation yearbook photo shoot. The advisor had called me, reminding me that since I had organized every piece of debate material over the last three years, the final page of the book couldn't be complete without me. When I arrived, Aaron and Judith were on stage recording a video segment titled "Partners Ten Years Later." The host asked if they would ever stand on the same debate stage again after graduation. Judith rolled her eyes. "Only if the organizer pays me double my appearance fee." Aaron leaned against the podium, chuckling. "If she doesn't get fired after moving to Atlanta, I might generously grant her one chance." Not a single kind word left his mouth, yet the commemorative album in his hands was crammed with dense handwriting. Atlanta. New York. Miami. Seattle. He had marked years next to five different cities, declaring they would meet once a year to see who had turned out more successful. Judith snatched the notebook away, complaining about his ugly handwriting, and added a line at the bottom: Whoever flakes first is a coward. The crowd cheered, calling them the ultimate power duo, destined to bicker for another decade even after college. Aaron turned, spotted me in the aisle, and gestured with his chin. "You came just in time. Take a picture for us." Through the camera viewfinder, Judith held the trophy while Aaron stood close beside her. They pretended to look disgusted with each other, yet both instinctively leaned an inch closer toward one another. After the shot, he walked over and handed me the album. My message section was completely blank. "You didn't write anything?" I asked softly. "We're not breaking up, so why write a goodbye?" He adjusted my graduation cap, his smile warm and close. "You're not like her. She's the type to vanish into thin air. If I don't keep her on a leash, she'll pretend she doesn't know me by next year. But you're my girlfriend. We have all the time in the world." "Do you remember what day my job orientation starts?" I asked. Aaron's hand froze on my shoulder. "Next week?" "The day after tomorrow." A flicker of awkwardness crossed his eyes, but he quickly smoothed it over with a light laugh. "What's the difference between two days earlier or later? Just send me your address when you arrive, and I'll ship your things to you." "I'm leaving tomorrow." "I know." He glanced back toward Judith. "Her train is at ten-twenty. Once I see her off, I'll head straight over to find you." I didn't bother reminding him that my train was at seven-forty. Three years ago, he had also told me that we had all the time in the world. So my birthday could always be celebrated another day. Our couple photos could be taken next time. The things I wanted to say could wait until he finished his work. Only Judith's matches, Judith's arguments, and Judith's departures required his immediate, undivided attention. The photographer called out, urging everyone to line up. Just as I stepped in front of the backdrop, Judith shouted from the stage, "Aaron, we need to re-record the last line. You said New York instead of Atlanta just now." The photographer checked his watch. "If we don't shoot now, the hall lights are going off." "Just five minutes!" Aaron called back. He squeezed my hand gently. "Wait for me." He hurried back onto the stage. Judith complained that his voice sounded like he was reading a eulogy. He retorted that her pronunciation sounded like she was still learning English. They argued over lines, then over stage placement. By the time they finished recording, half the ceiling lights in the hall had already been turned off. The photographer packed up his camera, giving me an apologetic look. "Looks like the couple shots will have to wait for another day." Only then did Aaron walk over. "We can just shoot at the train station tomorrow." I looked at him. "Aren't you seeing Judith off?" "Then the three of us will take it together," he said, taking it for granted. It turned out that even our graduation photos needed to reserve a spot for her. Aaron reached out to wrap an arm around my waist, but I stepped back, dodging his touch. The smile faded from his face. "Still not over it?" "We broke up." "Nora." His voice dropped into a warning register. "I'm giving you an exit ramp, so take it. Don't actually throw away three years of a relationship over a temper tantrums." I gave no answer. I simply handed the camera back to the advisor. In the very last photo stored on the memory card, Aaron and Judith stood together beside the album filled with plans for the future. I was completely outside the frame. On the night before departure, the debate team hosted a farewell livestream. The advisor mentioned it was our final official activity and asked if I could manage the control desk one last time. I agreed, wanting to put a clean, proper end to my four years here. Less than ten minutes into the stream, Judith abruptly changed her core argument mid-debate. Sitting on stage, Aaron countered with a smirk, but under the table, his fingers tapped twice against the wood. That was his old signal for me to patch through to his earpiece and soften his harsh words before they hit the live audience. This time, I didn't switch on the mic. He tapped three times, his gaze darting toward the control desk. Judith looked in my direction as well, mouthing the words, "What is he saying?" I pulled off one side of my headphones, keeping my eyes glued to the broadcast timer. Without me smoothing over their sharp edges, the two of them were forced to confront each other directly in front of the camera. "Why did you change the script without telling me?" "Because your third point is completely flawed." "Then why didn't you mention it earlier?" "I sent it to you three times last night. You were too busy texting goodnight to whoever you were talking to." Suppressed laughter broke out from the crew in the studio. Aaron's face stiffened, but he had no choice but to push through. They bickered back and forth for two full minutes, yet somehow, they managed to carry the debate to its finish. It turned out they were perfectly capable of communicating directly. They had simply gotten used to having someone else do the heavy lifting for them. The final segment was titled "A Note to Your Partner Five Years From Now." Aaron received his card. He muttered that there was nothing special to write, yet his pen moved rapidly across the paper. When you get to Atlanta, try to argue less with people. Take medicine when your stomach hurts, and don't take unlicensed cabs after ten at night. If you can't make it, tell me in advance so I can set aside time to laugh at you. Judith rolled her eyes, but the rims of her eyes turned red. Her note to Aaron contained a single sentence: Don't turn into a slick, arrogant corporate jerk in five years, or I'll call you out every single time I see you. The host chuckled, calling it the unique romance of a champion debate duo. When it came to partner messages, the microphone was passed to me. "Nora, why don't you leave a note for Aaron too?" Aaron sat under the bright studio lights, looking at me with an amused arch of his brow. He probably expected me to say what I always said, that I would forever stand right behind him. I stayed silent for a moment. "Happy graduation." The studio fell dead silent for a second. Aaron quickly laughed it off, smoothing over the awkwardness. "She's shy. She'll tell me the rest when we get home." After the stream ended, team members exchanged parting gifts. Aaron pulled out a refurbished fountain pen and tossed it to Judith. "The one you broke during the finals. Take it, so you don't look like you're borrowing a pen every time you sign a document at your new job." Judith caught it, her mouth as stubborn as ever. "As if I care." I recognized that pen. To find the rare replacement nib for that discontinued model, Aaron had scoured the old city district for days, skipping dinner with me for a week straight. His gift to me was a travel neck pillow bought from the train station convenience store. The price tag was still hanging from the side. "New York is far. Use it to sleep on the way." He clipped the neck pillow around my neck, leaning down to gently smooth my hair. "Don't go saying I don't care about you." His eyes were incredibly gentle. I recalled the very first time I gave a presentation on stage. He had sat in the very last row, silently mouthing the words Look at me to steady my nerves. Those moments of genuine warmth were real, which was why I had found it so hard to walk away, time after time. A second later, he pressed a blister pack of stomach medicine into my palm. "Give this to Judith on your way out. She definitely forgot to pack any." I unclipped the neck pillow, placing it back into his hands along with the medication. "She's right outside the door. Hand it to her yourself." Aaron frowned. "Nora, if you're jealous, I can comfort you. But don't throw a fit over practical matters." "I'm not throwing a fit." "Then what exactly do you want lately?" "A breakup." He stared at me, the last trace of warmth vanishing from his eyes. "Do you really have to ruin everyone's mood right when we're graduating?" Judith's voice called out from the hallway, urging him to hurry. Aaron closed his eyes briefly, shoving the neck pillow back into my arms. "Go back home first. Tomorrow morning, after I see her off, I'll come straight to your place." His tone softened into a placating plea. "You can punish me however you want then, alright?" I didn't tell him that my train was leaving two hours earlier than Judith's. The next morning at dawn, I wheeled my suitcase into the train station. With twenty minutes left before boarding, I spotted Aaron kneeling on the floor, helping Judith repack a suitcase jammed full of books. "Carrying this much scrap paper to Atlanta? Planning to wallpaper your apartment?" Judith nudged him with her shoe. "What do you know?" He looked up and saw me, immediately waving me over. "You came just in time. Tell her to ship these books instead." Neither of them asked why I was pulling a suitcase of my own. The station intercom chimed, announcing that boarding had begun for the train to New York. I walked straight past them toward the gate. Aaron reached out and grabbed the handle of my luggage rod. "You're leaving today?" "I told you multiple times." He glanced up at the departure board, his forehead finally creasing. A moment later, he let out a short sigh. "Fine, go ahead first. Send me your address when you arrive, and tonight we'll settle this breakup nonsense properly." I pried his fingers off my luggage rod, taking out the keys to our rented apartment and placing them on top of the printed Atlanta guide. "The lease expires today. Go pick up your remaining things this afternoon." Behind him, Judith called out, "Aaron! The zipper is stuck again!" He turned his head to shout back an insult, then looked at me. "Go through the gate first. Once I handle this, I'll call you." Believing I had finally stopped making a scene, he turned back to press down on Judith's suitcase lid. As the automatic turnstile snapped shut behind me, the last thing I saw was the bend of his back as he leaned over her luggage. Half an hour later, Judith flipped through the guide pages and asked, "Where did Nora go?" The overhead station broadcast chimed at that exact moment. The train bound for New York had officially departed the station. Aaron stared up at the giant LED screen, the remaining composure on his face draining away inch by inch. He finally remembered that the screenshot of my ticket had been sitting in our chat history all along. The apartment keys resting on the guide slipped off and hit the floor with a sharp metallic clink. He bent down to pick them up as Judith asked him another question. Aaron didn't hear a single word.