Heartstrings on Fire (Agnes and Jared)
Chapter 820

Back in high school, everyone thought Agnes was Ryder's girl.

During that time, his buddies would always bring her up in conversation.

It seemed like they were hell-bent on playing matchmaker, pairing them up at every turn.

Looking back, Ryder recalls that period as sweet, yet tumultuous.

It felt like a fleeting happiness that he couldn't quite grasp.

Ryder always felt that his joy, both then and now, was borrowed - stolen, even.

He opened the door to his apartment, not leading Agnes to the bedroom, but instead tidying up the couch to lay her down.

"Water..." Agnes mumbled incoherently.

Ryder rushed to get her some water, helping her sit up to take a sip. But as she drank, she vomited, right there on the living room carpet.

Regret surged through Ryder's heart. He knew she couldn't handle her liquor, yet he had watched her drink one too many.

The reason Ryder hadn't stopped her was simple - he had missed her too much. But in her sober moments, they couldn't be as they were now, even briefly. And now, seeing Agnes in discomfort, he regretted it deeply.

Ryder made hangover tea, and fed it to Agnes before starting to clean.

He scrubbed the carpet in the bathroom until it was spotless and took care of the mess on the floor. By the time he finished, an hour had passed.

When he returned, Agnes was sound asleep on the couch, looking utterly adorable.

Even as a mother to a five-year-old, her face still held the traces of girlhood.

She hadn't changed a bit from the girl etched in Ryder's memory.

He remembered that summer day when she handed him a bottle of water, her smile bright as sunshine, "Hey, Ryder..."

Ryder couldn't afford to reminisce. He had replayed these memories over and over through the years, each time feeling an immense heartache.

If only he had been braver back then and confessed his feelings for Agnes.

Things might not be as they were now.

Ryder sat at the small table in front of the couch, staring at the sleeping woman, his heart softening as if brushed by a dove's feather.

If this were his home, if she were his wife, if his life could be like this every evening, coming home to a sleeping spouse. What a dream that would be.

It was a scene he had fantasized about countless times, and at that moment, it seemed almost within reach.

Ryder leaned in, drawn by an impulse, his lips inching closer to Agnes' cheek.

He could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. His heart pounded as if it might leap from his chest, an anxiety he never felt even during the most complex surgeries.

A voice within cautioned him not to overstep, to stop, yet his body seemed to move of its own accord, as if drawn by some spell Agnes cast. The temptation to draw closer was irresistible. As Ryder's lips neared Agnes' skin, a phone's vibration shattered the moment.

It was like a bucket of ice water splashed from head to toe, snapping him back to reality...