A Promise Never Forgotten

Ailine sat on a black folding chair, her shoulder lightly resting against the studio wall.

The makeup on her face had only been half removed. Her long hair was clipped up carelessly, still carrying the scent of the perfume she had just advertised—expensive, warm, and elegant. The commercial demanded a calm sensuality, a confident gaze, a subtle, captivating smile. She had delivered everything flawlessly.

But now, the moment the cameras stopped rolling, her body felt hollow.

“Fifteen-minute break!” one of the crew members shouted.

Ailine nodded slightly. She picked up a bottle of mineral water and took a slow sip. Across the room, Julian Feng sat scrolling through his phone. He had already taken off the suit from the shoot, leaving only a white shirt with the top buttons undone.

“Tired?” Julian asked casually without looking up.

“A little,” Ailine answered honestly.

Julian glanced at her briefly, then smiled faintly. “Filming with you always looks easy on camera. But in real life… you look like someone who just ran a marathon.”

Ailine let out a small chuckle. “The camera never captures exhaustion.”

Julian nodded in agreement.

“By the way, Ai, you look thinner than the last time I saw you. You’re not dieting, are you? I’m warning you—you're already underweight! Don’t you dare lose more weight.”

“We just started our break. Can you not switch to nagging-mom mode already?” Ailine protested. “I don’t want to hear your lecture.”

“I’m just worried about you!”

“I know. Thank you. But trust me, I’m fine.”

Julian stared at Ailine a little longer. He knew she was lying—to him and to herself. He knew she wasn’t fine at all.

“I won’t ask any further,” he said quietly. “But if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

Ailine smiled. Julian really was the best. She was lucky to have him as a friend.

In the corner of the room, a small television was on, muted as usual—nothing more than background noise. But suddenly, several crew members froze. One of them turned up the volume.

The image on the screen changed.

A helicopter hovered low above the ground. Houses looked like scattered toys, swept away by mud. Roads were split apart. Murky brown water flooded what should have been densely populated neighborhoods.

“An earthquake followed by a massive landslide that occurred four days ago in the eastern mountainous region—”

Ailine turned her head.

Her hand froze midair.

“—has completely cut off the main access routes. Communication networks are down. Evacuation teams are still struggling to reach the area due to limited land and air access.”

The screen showed a resident crying while clutching a thin blanket. A child with mud-covered legs was carried by a volunteer. Emergency tents stood precariously under a light drizzle.

“As of now, the region has been declared isolated. Residents are surviving with limited aid while waiting for additional medical teams and volunteers.”

A strange tightness gripped Ailine’s chest.

She swallowed hard.

Julian stood up as well, watching the screen with a serious expression. “That area is in bad shape,” he murmured. “With access completely cut off like this… it usually takes a long time before real help gets through.”

Ailine didn’t respond.

Her eyes were fixed on the screen, but her thoughts drifted far away.

Isolated.

The word echoed strangely in her mind.

For some reason, her heart began to beat faster. A faint but undeniable unease crept in—the kind of feeling that something was wrong, even when you couldn’t explain why.

“What’s wrong?” Julian asked softly, noticing the change in her expression.

Ailine shook her head. “Nothing.”

But her fingers unconsciously tightened around the water bottle.

On the screen, the reporter continued.

“Central hospitals have confirmed that medical volunteers from various regions are being prepared for immediate deployment.”

Ailine turned away.

She didn’t want to keep watching, yet her feet felt heavy—as if something was holding her there.

Julian turned off the television.

“If you don’t want to watch, don’t,” he said gently. “News like this can mess with your head.”

“That’s not it,” Ailine replied quietly. She took a deep breath. “I just… feel strange.”

Julian looked at her for a few seconds, then chose not to press further. He knew Ailine wasn’t someone who opened up easily.

“We resume filming in ten minutes,” he said at last. “If you need more rest, just say the word. I can wait.”

Ailine nodded. “Thank you.”

Julian returned to his seat. Meanwhile, Ailine remained standing, staring at the now-dark television screen.

Why does my chest feel so tight? she wondered.

She reached for her phone instinctively. She didn’t open anything. No new messages. No notifications.

Just a blank screen.

And somehow, for the first time in a long while, one name surfaced clearly in her mind—uninvited.

Owen…

Ailine pressed the power button until the screen went dark.

“Focus,” she whispered to herself. “This isn’t my concern.”

But the feeling refused to leave.

Outside the studio, far from the noise of cameras and lights, a region lay trapped by disaster. And without Ailine knowing it, the one person she most wanted to forget… was walking straight toward that place.

---

Owen stood in front of a small wooden table in his apartment.

On top of it were neatly arranged gift boxes of various sizes. No flashy ribbons. No excessive wrapping. Everything was simple—just like the way he had loved Ailine all these years.

Loved Ailine?

Ah. Owen could finally admit it when he was alone like this. He still loved Ailine, even after more than ten years had passed.

The boxes weren’t large, but each differed in size. The wrapping paper varied in color—some slightly faded, others still looking new. On the corner of every box, a small label was carefully attached.

19th Birthday.

20th Birthday.

21st Birthday.

…

28th Birthday.

There were ten gift boxes in total.

Owen stood motionless before the table, both hands tucked into his pockets. His gaze lingered, as if each box wasn’t an inanimate object, but a fragment of time he had never truly let go of.

He still remembered that promise.

A promise to always give Ailine a birthday gift—to remind her that she still lived in his heart.

And Owen had kept it.

For her 19th birthday, when Ailine was just beginning to be recognized by the public, he bought her a small star-shaped pendant. Cheap. Simple. On the label, he wrote:

For the girl who always shines, even when she doubts herself.

For her 20th birthday, a leather-bound notebook with blank pages.

So you can write your own dreams, not someone else’s.

For her 21st, a secondhand analog camera he spent days searching for.

For her 22nd, a knitted scarf—he had even learned how to choose the yarn himself.

For her 23rd, a simple wristwatch. Not a luxury brand—just because Ailine once said she liked watches that “didn’t tick too loudly.”

Every year, there was always a gift.

Every year, there was always a label.

And every year, the gifts never reached Ailine.

At first, it was because of distance.

Then, because of circumstances.

And finally… because of Owen’s own choice.

Her 28th birthday was the last one he prepared, his hands trembling slightly as he wrapped it.

Inside was a pair of small earrings, barely noticeable.

The label was the shortest of them all.

Still for you. Always.

Owen gathered all the gift boxes and placed them into a large cardboard box he had prepared earlier. He wrapped everything together in plain brown paper.

On top of it, he wrote Ailine’s address.

No sender’s name.

No additional message.

Just ten gifts…

and ten years of feelings he finally released all at once.

He handed the box to the delivery service that very morning.

After that, Owen didn’t look back.

He changed his clothes, put on a simple jacket, and picked up his medical bag. His steps were steady as he left the apartment, heading toward the hospital—where he was to gather with the volunteer team.