Chapter 77: I Love You

Steven bent down and held her restless leg, his lips curved slightly. "Ms. Perez, it's not quite appropriate to do this."
Monica couldn't believe he would actually refuse, pursing her lips and saying, "What's inappropriate about it?"
He glanced at the shoebox on the side and calmly said, "Is this kind of behavior not crossing the line between friends?"
Friends...
So he was still holding a grudge from when Monica introduced him in front of Lawrence earlier.
He's just a friend's matter.
"Why are you so petty." She stepped on his leg with her tiptoe and pouted, "I don't care, I want you to put them on for me."
Steven seemed to compromise, kneeling down with one knee and holding her leg, placing her foot on his knee.
Instead of directly putting on her shoes, he gently touched her slender ankles with his fingertips and then rubbed her calf, teasingly slow: "What's in it for me?"
Monica supported herself on the chair with both hands, looking down at him and asked in return, "What do you want in return?"
He kissed her knee and looked up at her: "Listen to me tonight?"
His gaze was truly aggressive, making Monica panic and shyly avoid it. She forcefully nudged his leg with her tiptoe and coquettishly said, "Hurry up and put them on."
This was her way of agreeing.
However, Steven didn't make a move yet. He pointed to his lips with his other hand, saying, "First, pay a deposit."
"You're so annoying..." Monica playfully complained, but she still leaned over, her hand hooked around his neck.
Today, she was wearing a black cocktail dress, with lace spreading open at the neckline. As she leaned over, her soft and full breasts jiggled, catching his eye.
She kissed his lips and sucked on them a few times. Steven, still in a kneeling position, gently tilted his head back and reached out to embrace her back, deepening the kiss.
Their lips and teeth collided, tongues entwined, and their passionate and lingering kiss continued. Their breaths intertwined and echoed slowly in this quiet private room.
As they deeply kissed, the door to the room suddenly opened, and an apologetic voice came through in panic: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. There hasn't been any noise for so long, and I thought all the customers had left, sorry to both of you—"
The door quickly closed again. Monica looked up and only caught a glimpse of the waiter's clothes.
The enchanting atmosphere was shattered, and Monica's face soon turned red.
"I can't face people anymore!" She buried her head in his arms, her voice unclear but urgent, "It's all your fault."
"Yeah, it's all my fault." Steven responded with a smile, stroking her head to comfort her, "I'll put on your shoes now, it's time to leave."
Monica held onto his clothes with her fingers, her heart pounding, "Are we going home?"
"No rush, I'll take you to a few places first."
Steven drove her to a place.
It was an old residential building, looking very old with a gloomy presence standing in the night, peeling wall paint like ugly scars, varying in depth and mottled.
Steven used his phone as a flashlight and led her upstairs, holding her hand.
The building was empty, and the sound of Monica's high heels tapping on the stairs echoed and created an unsettling sound.
Steven stopped in front of a door and unlocked it with a key. The old door was pushed open, and a shower of dust fell down, making her eyes blurry. She couldn't help but take a step back.
It was apparent that no one had lived in the house for a long time. The furniture was covered with white cloth. With the help of the flashlight on her phone, she could barely see the structure of the living room.
Monica was surprised, "What are we doing here?"
"You'll find out soon." He reached out and held her shoulder, taking her inside.
Walk into one of the bedrooms.
The bedroom door was pushed open, and in the light, she saw the blue and white school uniform hanging on the hanger.
It's Eric High School, this is the uniform.
She was a little stunned: "What is this?"
"This is my room. I lived here before turning eighteen."
Monica looked around, her lips moved, but she didn't say anything.
"What expression is that on your face?" Steven smiled and pinched her cheek. "This house was built in the 90s, so it's a bit old, but other than that, there are no flaws. It's going to be demolished soon. This is prime downtown area. Guess how much compensation we'll get?"
Monica's eyes immediately changed: "You're going to make a fortune, Mr. Wright."
"It's not bad, but still a long way to go."
"What's missing?"
Steven put his arm around her waist and said jokingly, "To marry a princess, this amount of money is still far off. I still have to work hard."
"What are you saying!" Monica stared at him. "I have money, I don't care how much you have."
After saying that, she realized it was wrong. How did she just assume that the "princess" he mentioned was her?
She immediately shut up, turned her head without looking at him, and in the faint moonlight outside the window, he could vaguely see her slightly blushing cheeks.
"But I do care." Steven ended the topic. "Come over here."
Monica followed him into the bedroom, bypassed the bed, and saw him open the drawer of the desk.
Steven searched for a while and took out an envelope from inside.
"What is this?" she asked curiously.
"It's something I left from high school," he wiped off the dust on it with a tissue. "Originally, I wanted these things to be buried with this building. But after careful consideration, it's better to have a bit of ceremony."
He handed the envelope to Monica, who took it and asked as she opened it, "What is this?"
"Love letters."
Monica's hand paused. She didn't know what feeling surged up in her, and angrily threw it back at him,
"Why are you showing me the love letters you wrote in high school?"
It couldn't be that he was showing off how much he used to like that girl, right?
Just thinking about it, Monica's heart felt a bit dull.
"You'll find out once you open it." Steven handed it back to her. "At that time, someone in the class was pursuing a girl and asked me to write love letters on their behalf. I wrote them, showed them to him, and then he never came to me again."
Monica didn't expect this kind of answer, and with a raised eyebrow, a little smugness appeared: "Could it be that your writing skills were so poor that you were rejected?"
Steven turned on the light for her, and she lowered her head, reading under the light. She quickly understood why those love letters were returned by that boy.
They couldn't even be called love letters. Although Steven's handwriting was pleasing to the eye, upon closer examination of the content, it turned out to be a series of arguments about how love does not exist.
Through this piece of paper, she seemed to see the Steven from ten years ago, sitting in front of this desk, expressionless, delivering his pessimistic views on love.
In high school
"In the past, due to family reasons, I did not believe in love, did not believe in marriage, and believed that the emotions between people were incredibly fragile. At that time, I was very arrogant and pessimistic, firmly convinced that I could never be captured by something so ephemeral."
She was reading the letter with her head down, and he was watching her.
"But later on, time proved me wrong."
He took out a lighter from his pocket and flicked it gently, causing the dancing flame to burn brightly in the darkness.
"Monica." He handed her the lighter. "Burn this 'love letter' for me."
He brought her to bid farewell to the young, confused, and stubborn version of himself, telling him, In the end, he did find his love.
The two of them walked out of the residential building. The night was quiet. Steven washed his hands with her and embraced her downstairs before taking her to the car.
Monica's cheeks were rosy, covered in the moist traces of their kisses. She asked him, "Where else are we going?"
"The last place, and also the starting point."
The car raced through the dark night, making turns left and right, until it entered an open space.
Lonely streetlights shone, casting a clear light on the ground, illuminating the scene ahead.
A tall wire fence surrounded basketball courts. Memories were awakened, and Monica's heartbeat gradually accelerated. "This is..."
Steven held her hand and walked into the basketball court. "We first met here, five years ago, on July 23rd."
"So your password..." she suddenly understood.
610723.
61 was her birthday, and 0723 was the day they first met.
"Actually, before I met you, Eric mentioned you to me." Steven seemed to recall something and smiled.
"He said he had a little sister who was a little devil at home, very troublesome, very annoying."
Monica couldn't believe it. "Eric actually said that about me!"
"Yeah, so I already had the preconception that you were a difficult and hard-to-get-along-with girl."
He tightened his grip on her fingers. "But the day I saw you for the first time, you were hiding behind Eric, looking very well-behaved, completely different from what I imagined. Most importantly, you looked at me and then blushed."
"In that instant, I felt like I was struck." Steven laughed.
"It's strange, right? I still find it difficult to describe that feeling even now, but in short, I really wanted to get to know you. I couldn't control myself from watching you on the sideline, so I played poorly in the game that day and ended up being sent to buy water."
Everything connected.
Monica poked his waist and pretended to be coy. "So, it was love at first sight for me?"
"Yes," he admitted. "I was very smitten."
The basketball court was quiet, and flying insects gathered by the streetlights, fluttering around like snowflakes.
The two of them held hands and walked slowly side by side in the empty night, until he stopped.
Steven let go of her hand, turned around, and faced her.
Monica sensed the sudden tension and nervously lowered her head, her reddened cheeks tinged with a delicate white under the light.
He reached out and gently touched her chin, lifting her cheek to look into those beautiful eyes.
His expression was unlike anything she had ever seen before, making her heart race as if it was about to jump out of her throat. Her palms were sweaty and her cheeks were burning.
In the silence of the night, under the moonlight, he looked at her, his black eyes shining. "Monica, I love you."