The Landslide
Three years ago, I met Caleb Jones at a music creation workshop.
Back then, he was radiant and confident, with a natural stage presence that made him impossible to ignore.
We talked for hours, about music, life, and our dreams for the future.
He said he wanted to be a singer remembered by everyone, and I told him I wanted to write songs that could touch people's hearts.
That conversation felt like planting a seed in my heart, slowly taking root and sprouting.
Eventually, we naturally fell into a relationship.
Those three years were filled with sweetness, but also with arguments.
More often, though, I was alone in an empty room, waiting for him to come home from work.
He was always busy—recording songs, attending interviews, and taking part in all kinds of events.
And I was like a supporting character in his life, quietly standing at the edge of the stage, waiting for him to glance back at me once in a while.
This time, he was going to join an outdoor adventure program set deep in a mountain in the southwest.
He said the program would last seven days and hoped I could go with him.
When I heard that, I almost immediately agreed without hesitation.
In the three years we'd been together, he rarely had time for things like this with me. I thought this would be a new beginning for us.
On the day we left, it was still dark before dawn when we boarded the Program Team's bus.
The mountain roads wound ahead, and the view outside the window slowly shifted from city skyscrapers to endless green hills.
The air carried the damp scent of earth, fresh and uplifting.
I leaned back in my seat, watching the scenery outside, my heart swelling with anticipation.
The mountain wind was far colder than I had expected.
September skies should carry the warmth of early autumn, but here the wind bit like deep autumn.
I wrapped my jacket tighter and quickened my pace to stay with the group, trying not to fall behind.
The mountain path was rugged, and the loose stones underfoot rolled quietly, stirring a nervous unease within me.
"Don't be afraid, I'm here."
Caleb Jones looked back and smiled at me.
That smile was still beautiful, with a familiar tenderness in his eyes.
But for some reason, I always felt that tenderness was like a thin veil of mist, obscuring his true feelings.
I didn't think much of it, just assumed he was nervous because of the show.
After all, this show was very important to him; I'd heard it could really boost his exposure.
It made sense that he cared.
I quickened my pace, wanting to get closer to him.
But after just two steps, the ground beneath my feet suddenly began to shake.
At first, it was just a slight tremor; I thought I was simply off balance.
But the next moment, the shaking grew more violent. The trees around me began to sway, and stones tumbled down the steep slope with a clatter, accompanied by the dull rumble of shifting earth.
"Landslide!"
Someone screamed sharply, their voice full of terror.
Chaos broke out instantly.
People scattered in all directions. I was shoved by the panicked crowd, lost my footing, and fell hard to the ground.
Before I could even get up, heavy earth and broken stones surged over me like a tide, instantly burying my legs.
The icy cold soil crept down my collar and seeped into my clothes; the pressure grew stronger, making it harder to breathe.
"Caleb Jones! Save me!"
I called his name desperately, my throat filled with the taste of dirt—dry and burning.
Screams, cries, and the sound of collapsing rocks blended all around me, but I couldn't hear Caleb's response.
In the darkness, his voice finally came through—so close, yet somehow distant, blurred, carrying a panic I'd never heard before.
"Reagan! Where are you? Reagan!"
That was his voice calling out to Reagan.
Each word stabbed at my heart like a needle.
Reagan Shaw—I always knew she existed.
She was Caleb Jones's first love, the one he always spoke of.
For three years, I tried my best to be the girlfriend, believing that as long as I loved him enough, was sensible enough, one day I could replace her in his heart.
But now I realize, some places were never meant for me.
"Caleb, I'm here! I can barely breathe!"
I screamed with all my strength, hoping he could hear me, hoping he'd come to save me.
The soil kept falling, the pressure on my chest growing heavier, and my vision slowly darkened.
His footsteps seemed to have stopped not far away.
A spark of hope ignited in my heart, and with my last bit of strength, I shouted, "Caleb Jones, my leg won't move, pull me up first!"
Silence.
A long silence.
A few seconds that felt like a whole century.
Then, his voice came again from another direction, the urgency and worry in his tone so clear: "Reagan, hold on a little longer, I'm coming to get you out!"
The footsteps gradually faded away, growing more distant and blurred, until they completely vanished into the chaotic noise.
I froze where I stood, my entire body chilled.
The soil kept falling, my chest tightening unbearably, even breathing felt like a luxury.
It turned out that in his heart, I was never a priority.
Even when I was in danger, even when I screamed hoarsely, his eyes were fixed only on someone named Reagan Shaw.
Just before losing consciousness, I thought I heard someone digging soil—rhythmically, again and again.
But I no longer had the strength to tell if the person was coming to save me.
The darkness before my eyes thickened, until I completely lost consciousness.
I don't know how long had passed before I suddenly gasped, choking on a mouthful of dirt; cold air flooded my lungs—I could finally breathe fresh air again.
I struggled to open my eyes and saw several unfamiliar faces wearing the Program Team's uniforms, holding shovels.
"Thank goodness, you're awake!"
One of them let out a sigh of relief and smiled as he spoke.
It was the Program Team staff who rescued me.
They told me that if I had been even a few minutes later, I might really have been beyond help.
I lay on the makeshift stretcher as they carried me down the mountain.
As we passed through a clearing, I happened to look up and saw Caleb Jones holding Reagan Shaw, carefully brushing the dust off her, his touch gentle as if he were handling a rare treasure.
Reagan Shaw had only scraped her arm slightly, yet she leaned against him with a face full of grievance, her eyes red as if she'd suffered some great injustice.
Caleb lowered his head to comfort her; the tenderness and concern in his eyes were things I had never received.
I quickly turned my face away, my heart gripped tightly by an invisible hand, then crushed mercilessly—pain so sharp I could barely breathe.
It turned out that in his heart, not even a scraped Reagan could compare to me.
"Caleb, let's break up."
I said softly, my voice hoarse and unlike my own, so faint even I could barely hear it.
He froze for a moment, as if he hadn't fully registered it. He glanced back at me, surprise in his eyes along with a trace of barely concealed impatience: "Nola, don't be ridiculous; this isn't the time to talk about this."
"I'm not making a fuss."
I looked into his eyes, and for the first time, those eyes I had once been so infatuated with felt utterly unfamiliar.
"From today on, I will completely disappear from your world and never disturb you and Reagan Shaw again."
I spoke each word clearly, every single one carrying finality.
This time, I was serious.
When I woke again, I was already in the ICU ward of the Hospital.
White ceiling, white walls, white sheets—my whole world was wrapped in white, cold and suffocating.
The steady "beep beep" of the machine echoed beside my ear, an IV line inserted into my hand. The cold liquid slowly trickled through my veins, making me shiver.
The nurse pushed the door open to change my dressing. Seeing my eyes open, surprise crossed her face. "You're finally awake! You've been unconscious for two days. We were so worried."
She worked skillfully while talking to me, her tone warm and gentle.
"Who brought me here?"
I whispered the question, but deep down, I already knew the answer—I had never expected it to be Caleb Jones.
After all, when we were at the foot of the mountain, he didn't even spare me a glance; his heart was entirely with his Reagan Shaw.
"It was a gentleman named Simon Green. He happened to pass by the accident site, saw you buried under the soil, and quickly found someone to help pull you out. He even covered all the medical expenses upfront."
The nurse was jotting something down in the medical record as she replied, "That gentleman is very kind. He even came by the next day to ask about your condition."
Simon Green?
I silently repeated the name in my mind, trying to search my memory, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't recall any impression at all.
I had never heard that name before, nor did I know anyone by it.
In the end, the person who saved me wasn't the boyfriend I had loved and given my all to for three years, but a complete stranger.
This realization stirred a bitter ache inside me, along with a faint, inexplicable sense of relief.
After five days in the ICU, my body finally began to improve, and I was transferred to a regular ward.
The ward had windows that let sunlight in—it felt so much warmer than the ICU.
The moment I pushed the door open, I saw Caleb Jones sitting on the chair beside my bed, holding a newspaper, seemingly waiting for me.
When he saw me come in, he immediately stood up, a concerned expression spreading across his face.
"You're awake? How do you feel? Is there anywhere that hurts?"
He reached out to touch my forehead, probably wanting to check if I had a fever.
I instinctively turned my head away from his hand, my voice flat, without a trace of warmth: "Caleb, we've already broken up. You don't need to come here anymore."
His hand froze in midair, the concern on his face slowly fading as his expression darkened: "Nola, I know you're still upset that I saved Reagan first that day, but it was really an emergency. She was closer to me—I had no choice but to save her first."
He tried to explain, his tone tinged with a barely perceptible defensiveness.
"Have no choice?"
I couldn't help but laugh, but tears fell uncontrollably, hitting the sheets and spreading a small wet patch.
"Caleb Jones, I called you so many times, so loudly—did you really not hear? If you had just looked back once, you could have seen me buried under the earth, could have seen I was barely breathing! But you didn't. You didn't even hesitate for a second—you ran straight toward Reagan Shaw!"
"I..."
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but in the end said nothing, only furrowing his brow with a troubled look.
I closed my eyes, not wanting to see him anymore, nor listen to his pale, weak explanations: "Go away. I don't want to see you again, nor hear your voice."
Before he could say anything more, the nurse came in to change the dressing, carrying an IV bottle and medications.
Seeing the nurse enter, Caleb Jones had no choice but to swallow the words on his lips, stood up, gave me a long, deep look, then turned and left the ward.
After he left, I leaned against the headboard, closed my eyes, and began to recall the three years we had spent together.
Those memories I once thought sweet now felt nothing but bitter irony.
On our first date, he took me to a F-style restaurant. At the time, I was really happy and thought he was so thoughtful.
But later, I found out that restaurant was Reagan Shaw's favorite.
For my birthday, he gave me a necklace. I wore it every day, treasuring it like a precious gift.
Until one day, I saw on Reagan Shaw's social media that she was wearing the exact same necklace, with a caption saying, "Caleb gave this to me, I really like it." And that post was from six months before my birthday.
Even when we occasionally fought, the words he used to comfort me—I later found them, word for word, on Reagan Shaw's old blog. They were exactly the same things he had said to her back then.
I realized I've always lived in Reagan Shaw's shadow, like a soulless stand-in.
He was never once my first choice, never.
What I thought was deep affection was only the leftover tenderness he had for others; what I believed was special was just his casual indifference.
Thinking of this, my heart aches as if pricked by needles.
But strangely, the tears won't fall.
Maybe I've cried them all away, or maybe my heart has just gone numb.
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