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The sunshine on St. Patrick's Day was indeed a gift borrowed from the generous month of May.
After that day, the weather seemed to change completely, becoming gloomy for several days in a row. The rain fell in a fine, dense drizzle, like a transparent net, enveloping the entire small town in a damp mist.
For Zhiwei and Shen Chongchong, the rain came at just the right time. Spring break was already a free period, so they were happy to stay at home, cooking, watching movies, and occasionally going out to buy groceries. Even the distance between them walking under the umbrella felt like a scene from a romantic drama.
But for Panqiu, the rain only added a damp fog to her already troubled mood. Every time she opened the window and heard the soft sound of raindrops tapping on the glass, an inexplicable feeling of melancholy would well up in her heart.
When she was feeling down, she often liked to stare blankly at the painting on the wall. The branches stretched out quietly, as if silently watching over her in the wind. Ever since she learned that Rowan was part of Ethan's name, and that this tree symbolized protection and shelter in Celtic culture, she often had a subtle feeling—being hung directly opposite her in her room, she could see it every time she looked up.
That sense of comfort was once magical. It was as if just one glance could gently soothe the restlessness in one's heart.
But now, this painting makes her feel uneasy.
Even though the pattern hasn't changed, when she looks at it, the image of that day's parade always comes to mind—as if magnified by the moisture, appearing again and again: bright crowds, booming drums, laughing children, and that moment of natural tenderness in Ethan's arms, with someone standing shoulder to shoulder with him.
What bothered her most wasn't the scene she witnessed that day, but rather her own anxieties. Why did she care? Why did she feel her breathing become disordered? Why was she upset because she felt like an outsider, yet caught up in an emotion she had no right to be involved in?
My chest feels incredibly tight, as if the rain has seeped into my lungs.
So why? Why did seeing Ethan holding a child with a woman standing next to him cause her such a strong emotional reaction?
She fled in a truly disheveled and miserable state.
Could it be... jealousy?
The word flashed through her mind, and she immediately denied it reflexively. She couldn't help but sneer inwardly: Please, what right does she have to be jealous? It's only natural that her mentor has a family and a life.
Her reason sounded an alarm: even the slightest thought was almost immoral.
Whether she denied it or not, the emotions wouldn't disappear. What truly alarmed her was that she suddenly realized she had been tacitly accepting a kind of "delusion"—treating him as a deity belonging only to the academic world, detached from all worldly concerns, with nothing else concerning her except his research.
But he wasn't.
He would appear in places where people were wearing short sleeves during winter break, answer the phone, hold the children, and show a certainty and gentleness she had never seen before when he was with his family.
She gave herself a psychological diagnosis: this was a classic case of "attachment misalignment." She craved to be understood and loved, and Ethan had indeed provided her with such experiences academically. So her brain irresponsibly delivered a false message: please misinterpret "being understood" as "being liked."
If she were to be honest, she had to admit that Ethan had indeed occupied her mental space over the past year. Those moments of being pulled out of the mire, that precise grasp of her research, made her feel guided and illuminated.
Is this love? Probably not. It's more like "transferred emotions"—like a patient projecting trust onto a therapist, she projected that dependence onto Ethan.
Thinking of this, she couldn't help but feel a dry sense of self-deprecation:
—It's not that I like him, it's that I like the smarter, more complete version of myself that I feel when he understands me.
But sometimes, illusions can become real.
It could make her heart race, make her toss and turn in the rain, and make her flee in a disheveled state. What bothered her most wasn't the scene itself, but the fact that she had lost control to such an extent. She always prided herself on being calm and composed, yet she still exposed her most vulnerable side amidst the holiday crowds.
Hopefully Ethan didn't see her run away; it was so embarrassing!
She silently drew a line in her mind: "Absolutely not."
In terms of behavior, she needs to get everything back on track. Reduce one-on-one communication, write issues in emails, and only discuss academic matters in meetings. As for Rowan's painting... perhaps it should be moved, at least not directly facing the bed.
Ultimately, behind this turmoil lay a loneliness she was unwilling to acknowledge. In that moment, she clearly realized—she was not essential to anyone. And this sudden revelation was sharper than jealousy, more deadly than ambiguity.
She rested her chin on her hand and suddenly smiled again. The daily dilemma of a psychology PhD is probably that even in moments of despair, one must dissect their emotions and ultimately offer a commentary.
She slumped in her chair like a deflated balloon, her gaze unconsciously sweeping across the wall, only to land on Rowan's painting.
Her heart tightened, and she stood up almost as if she had been sprung up by a spring, taking the painting down. Without thinking, she went straight to the walk-in closet, pushed open the door, placed it in the most inconspicuous corner, and then closed the door.
The room instantly became cool and refreshing, as if the noise of the universe had been cut off.
But then, the sound of rain outside the window began to patter, like an untimely laugh, mocking her for ultimately failing to maintain true composure.
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