Chapter 54: Ashford University's Dining Halls Were Always a Campus Landmark

Ashford University's dining halls were always a campus landmark.

The three main buildings formed a triangular layout, offering cuisines from every corner of the world—even Southeast Asian curries and Italian pasta could be found here.

During her student days, Clara Whitmore had loved the noodle counter on the second floor.

The round-faced lady there would always smile and give her an extra scoop of meat.

Three years later, the counter remained unchanged, and even the students in line looked familiar.

Standing at the end of the queue, her heartbeat inexplicably quickened.

The lady took the tray without looking up, but her eyes lit up the moment she recognized Clara.

"Sweetheart, long time no see."

Elias Mercer stood behind her, watching as the lady's wrist tilted slightly—the portion of braised pork was clearly excessive.

"Still tastes the same?" the lady asked while serving.

Clara's nose tingled.

"Even better than I remembered."

They chose a table by the window.

Sunlight streamed through the glass, glistening on the sweet and sour ribs.

"Back then, if I missed meal hours because of experiments, she'd always save me a drumstick."

Clara picked up a rib.

"At the time, I thought the greatest happiness was having a warm meal amid cold test tubes."

Elias noticed a faint scar on her fingertip.

"From the lab?"

"Yeah, a glass cut sophomore year."

She unconsciously rubbed the mark.

"I bled so much—Sloane carried me to the infirmary."

The lakeside breeze carried the scent of lotus leaves.

Clara sat on a stone bench, her skirt fluttering slightly.

"Broke up?" Elias suddenly asked.

She froze, then relaxed.

"Six years... undone by 'incompatibility.'"

In the distance, a student cycled past, the bell jingling.

Elias took off his glasses to clean them.

"Does it still hurt?"

Only then did Clara notice the bruise on her wrist had darkened to purple.

The ointment he handed her smelled of mint, cooling as it seeped into her skin.

On the way back, the sky blazed with sunset.

In the rearview mirror, the library's spire gradually vanished into dusk.

Holding the box of books, she heard him say, "I'm off tomorrow."

Before the elevator doors fully closed, she saw him standing at the edge of light and shadow—his white shirt dyed honey-gold by the fading sun.