Drying his hair with a towel, Elias picked up his phone and walked hurriedly toward the piano room.

Watching his back, devoid of any sleepiness, Nora spoke softly, "It's very late, and you have a schedule tomorrow. Aren't you going to rest?"

Elias didn't even turn his head. His fingers tapped rapidly on the screen as he replied perfunctorily, "I just got some inspiration. I'm going to note down a few chords. You go to sleep first."

After five years together, Nora knew him too well.

His so-called "inspiration" was nothing more than an urgency to reply to Chloe's messages.

Nora didn't expose him. She simply watched the light spilling from the crack of the half-closed piano room door.

Through the gap, she saw the man who usually wore a cold expression now smiling at his phone screen with utmost tenderness.

It was an expression Nora had never seen before.

So, it wasn't that he didn't know how to smile; he just didn't want to smile at her.

Nora pulled the corner of her mouth into a self-mocking arc and turned back to the bedroom.

In any case, she would be flying to Bordeaux in thirty days. By then, Elias could openly chase his "Muse." Since she had decided to let go, why bother troubling herself further?

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the blinds onto the floor.

Nora had just finished brewing two cups of black coffee when she saw Elias walking out of the piano room. There were dark circles under his eyes from staying up all night, but his spirit was unusually high.

The two sat at the dining table. Elias took a sip of coffee and was about to get up to leave.

Nora suddenly stopped him.

"Today is Sunday. We agreed to go to Malibu Beach to look at houses, remember?"

It was a plan they had made six months ago, to buy a seaside villa that belonged to them.

Elias paused, a flash of unnaturalness crossing his face.

"I'm afraid I can't make it today. The manager scheduled an important interview last minute. I can't get out of it," he said, avoiding Nora's gaze.

Nora silently stirred the coffee in her cup and nodded.

Seeing that she didn't whine or complain as she used to, Elias actually felt a bit strange. He subconsciously glanced at the magnetic calendar on the fridge and asked casually, "When did you draw a countdown on there? Is thirty days from now some special anniversary?"

Looking at the bright red "30" on the calendar, Nora reached out and tore off a page. The number became "29."

"I just drew it yesterday. I have a private matter to handle in a month, and I was afraid I'd forget," she replied in a flat tone.

Elias didn't think much of it. He checked his wristwatch, grabbed his car keys, and headed for the entryway.

"I'll bring you your favorite red velvet cake when I come back tonight. Be good and stay home."

With the heavy sound of the door closing, this promise hung in the air, light as a feather and utterly weightless.

Nora let out a light chuckle, though her eyes were a barren wasteland.

After finishing the last sip of coffee, she dragged several large black garbage bags out of the storage room and began clearing away the traces of her existence in this apartment.

The heavy-duty black bags unfolded in her hands with the harsh sound of friction, like a muffled sigh. Nora knelt on the floor, her gaze landing on several cement-gray vases with cold, hard shapes.

Her fingertips touched the surface of a vase; the cold, rough sensation drilled into her heart through her nerve endings.

She actually hated this so-called "industrial minimalism." She loved bright sunflowers, vintage porcelain with floral prints, and warm tones that made a house look like a "home."

Her memory suddenly jumped back to the first week she moved in.

That day, she had excitedly brought home a bouquet of pink tulips still fresh with dew. Just as she was arranging them in a glass vase she had brought, Elias pushed the door open. He frowned, his gaze scraping over that splash of bright color like a boning knife.

"Nora, throw that out." He set his guitar case heavily on the floor, his tone full of impatience. "That gaudy color interrupts my creative train of thought. This home only needs black, white, and gray, understand?"

So, the tulips went into the trash, replaced by these lifeless cement bottles.

Without any hesitation, Nora grabbed the vase and turned her wrist.

*Clang—*

A dull thud echoed through the empty living room.

Next was the thick stack of kraft paper notebooks on the bottom shelf of the bookcase.

Nora pulled one out, her thumb brushing over the smooth cover. There wasn't a single crease on it; it was as brand new as an ironic joke.

To help Elias break through a creative bottleneck, she had spent the better part of a year combing through ancient Greek modes and medieval folk songs, breaking down those obscure music theories into notes he could understand. Every character written had cost her red, weary eyes.

She remembered the scene when she handed him these notes.

Elias had merely flipped through two pages before tossing them aside, sneering, "Nora, I'm a genius. I don't need this rigid dogma. Only mediocrities rely on theory to write songs."

So in his eyes, her heart's blood was just the struggle of a mediocrity.

Nora opened the notebook, the paper making a crisp sound. She gripped the spine and tore hard.

*Riiiip—*

The sound of paper shredding was unusually pleasing to the ear. It was as if she were dismembering a corpse named "The Past," tearing those dense musical notes into powder, letting them fall like snowflakes into the black mouth of the bag.

Finally, her gaze stopped deep inside the cupboard.

There stood a pair of mugs printed with cartoon patterns, the dust accumulated on them so thick it felt sticky.

They had bought them at a market in Germany three Christmases ago. It was snowing heavily that night, and Elias, rarely without his sunglasses and mask, had held her hand as they wove through the crowd.

"These cups are silly," Elias had said, white vapor puffing from his mouth, yet wearing a rare smile. "But they're like us."

He bought the cups and, on that snowy night, vowed to her, "From now on, we'll drink coffee from these every morning."

Nora had believed him.

She washed the cups until they sparkled and placed them in the most prominent spot.

But the very next day, Elias reverted to his indifference, holding his expensive bone china cup as usual. The cartoon cup that belonged to him had never moved a single millimeter from that day on, until it was thoroughly buried by dust.

Nora reached out, her fingertip wiping across the rim, leaving a clear print.

It turned out that the so-called "like us" was just a sweet nothing he had woven on a whim. Only she had foolishly guarded this promise, treating a pair of cheap cups like treasures.

Her wrist trembled slightly, and that sour sensation surged into her nose again.

"Goodbye."

She whispered softly, releasing her fingers.

The two cups tumbled deep into the garbage bag, emitting a muffled sound of shattering.

Nora tightened the mouth of the bag and tied a dead knot with force, sealing those five years full of lies and self-delusion permanently inside this mass of black plastic.