Beware the Heart Thief

To be honest, I did waver for a few seconds back then. But I knew better that virtual love always ended up frozen on top of some snow-capped mountain peak. Once the sun set, even the shadows disappeared.

No matter how intense or passionate the feelings between Oliver and me were, they could never survive the different time zones, oceans between us, and three years without seeing each other once.

Once was enough. We each had our own paths, so there was no point in dragging each other down.

Back then, I had no idea that on the other end of the ocean, Oliver flung his phone into a corner of the couch after getting dumped. He picked up a handgun and fired three consecutive shots into the bullseye.

Then, he smirked and spat, "Alright then. I guess playing nice doesn't work anymore."

…

Last winter, Oliver said Canverly was so cold it felt like frost crept into the bones.

I asked, "Is it colder than my place, Glaciara?"

He replied, "Not even close. Glaciara has you in it."

After we broke up this Christmas, I flew to Canverly alone as an exchange student. He must not have expected me to come.

I purposely picked a fight and ended things before I arrived, just so he wouldn't see me and bother me. Canverly was huge, and I was confident that if he did not search for me on purpose, we could live a lifetime without crossing paths.

But Canverly could be ridiculously small.

I was buying milk at a convenience store when I turned around and nearly crashed into an acquaintance I had not seen in three years. He was my high school deskmate, Sean Murphy.

He was studying abroad in Canverly and living right next door to me. Now, he owned a goofy border collie that wagged its tail like it was remote-controlled.

The first time we ran into each other, he was heading downstairs, taking out the trash, and waving goodbye to a group of my friends.

When he looked up, his eyes immediately lit up. "Summer Reed? Holy shit, is that you?

"Your Canverlian sounds native now! It's way better than in high school; you used to avoid Conversation Group like the plague.

"Did you hire a private tutor?"

I laughed. "Not exactly a tutor, but I dated a Canverlian guy online."

When he burst out laughing, I snapped, "What's so funny?"

He was smiling so hard his eyes curved into mini crescents. "Nothing. It's just the first time I've heard of anyone using online dating to scam someone for free lessons. Others scam for money or love, while you scam for elective credits."

"You bet," I said with a shrug. "I also scammed good looks, sincere hearts, and a candlelit dinner I never got to eat."

Sean laughed so hard he nearly tripped over his dog.

He was always the refined type with clean, gentle facial features and a scholarly vibe. Back in high school, the number of female students in our class who were secretly crushing on him could have formed a choir, but nobody dared confess.

He looked like a top-tier scholar, but he was cold to the bone. If he were ever handed a love letter, he would probably respond with an essay titled "The Impact of Adolescent Romance on Learning Efficiency", then submit both copies to the homeroom teacher.

Running into an old friend in a foreign country slowly drew us back together. During the evening dog walks, he would casually hand me two boxes of cookies and chocolate he had baked himself.

Nobody would believe it. The science geek who used to obsess over mathematical theorems was now making pastries better than five-star hotels. I figured that too much bland local food had nearly erased his will to live.

On the way back to my apartment, I was caught off guard when a black car screeched to a halt, and two bulky men lunged out. One grabbed my arms, the other covered my mouth, and they hauled me into the car.

The car sped off like it was fleeing a crime scene. The windows were heavily tinted. It was pitch black outside, and so quiet in the car that I could hear my own heartbeat.

I tried a line in Canverlian. "I'm broke. No money."

They would surely realize that I was just a useless, poor female student.

That was when a kidnapper slowly spoke, each word thick with an accent, "Hel-lo. No… need money. I… have a salary. Thank you."

I was utterly dumbfounded. "You're such a polite kidnapper."

"Thank you for the compliment." He solemnly nodded.

"Can you understand me?"

"I can," he replied and tugged at his collar. "I'm… half Crisean."