Chapter 232 He Is Not Her God
He was afraid that Caroline in this dream would disappear just like she had in reality.
Finally, he spotted her on that familiar little hill behind the manor, curled up under the oak tree.
Her back was to him, shoulders trembling slightly. The sound of her broken sobs carried to Alexander's ears on the wind.
Alexander's heart clenched as he approached quietly.
He wanted to rush forward, hold Caroline, and tell her everything was okay. But he didn't dare.
Because approaching too suddenly would only push her further away.
He could only crouch down slowly, reaching out his hand carefully, tentatively.
"Caroline... don't cry. Let me help you up, okay?"
Caroline turned her head, tears still in her eyes, and the next second she threw herself into his arms.
Alexander's whole body froze instantly, his half-raised hand hanging awkwardly in the air, not knowing where to put it.
"Don't cry, Caroline, don't cry..." he kept saying, his voice rough.
She mumbled against his chest, "...Thank you, Alexander."
Caroline pulled back slightly, lifting her tear-stained face.
"No one has ever spoken up for me like that. No one knew what I liked or what I'd done, yet was willing to stand up for me in front of everyone."
Her voice was still choked, but her eyes were so clear you couldn't look away.
"I'm not sad. I'm... really happy."
Alexander's chest ached sharply, and for a moment shame nearly suffocated him.
He thought, 'Caroline, you don't know—I once ignored all those bright parts of you too. The understanding you're grateful for now is something I only gained in another lifetime, paid for with your life and the regret that consumed my remaining years. This isn't kindness. This is a debt I owe, one I'll never be able to repay. You shouldn't thank me. You should hate me.'
His throat tightened, unable to say a word. Only that hand suspended in the air finally came down slowly, resting gently on her shoulder.
"No... you don't need to thank me. It's what I should do."
Caroline leaned against him, her crying gradually settling.
When she realized she was holding Alexander, her face flushed red and she immediately let go, pulling back.
Alexander's arms suddenly felt empty without her warmth.
That sense of loss came unexpectedly, a dull ache he couldn't shake.
The two sat side by side on the grassy slope. The night wind swept past, but the silence remained.
After a long while, Caroline spoke first in a low voice.
"Today... thank you for speaking up for me." She gently pulled at the grass by her feet. "I know the one you like... is Edith. Earlier, that was to help me, right? Either way, I'm really grateful."
"That's not it!" Alexander turned sharply, denying it almost instinctively.
"Caroline, I've told you many times, I don't like Edith! The one I like is you!"
Caroline was startled by the intensity in his voice and shook her head reflexively.
"No, don't do this... Alexander, this isn't a joke."
"I'm not joking."
Seeing she seemed about to stand and leave, Alexander panicked and reached out to pull her back.
The movement was too forceful. His already weak body couldn't steady itself, and he ended up kneeling on one knee in front of her.
He simply didn't get up, looking up at her from this awkward position, saying urgently, "I admit it! I did have feelings for Edith before, because she seemed fragile and needed taking care of. But later I gradually realized that the person I really like is you."
"Only when I'm with you do I want to know what book you're reading, want to hear you play piano, want to understand those interesting little things you discover. Only with you can I speak my immature, imperfect thoughts without any burden. Caroline, my feelings for you are different."
Caroline froze, speechless.
Alexander reached out tentatively, his voice dropping, "Caroline... you actually like me too, don't you? You don't have to be afraid, don't have to care about anyone else. I know you've always been kind and suppressed for too long—"
But Caroline gently brushed his hand away from her sleeve.
"Alexander," she said. "I do like you."
Alexander's heartbeat nearly went out of control.
But before the joy could spread, Caroline continued, "But I never told you, never told anyone—not because I was too suppressed to speak, and not because I needed to consider anyone's feelings—including Edith's."
Her expression was calm, almost brutally so.
"It's because I knew very clearly that the one you liked was Edith. So I kept this feeling in my heart, not expecting a response, not planning to change anything. Not because I had to step aside, but because—it never needed to lead anywhere."
"This emotion called 'liking,' from the moment it was born, belonged to me alone. As long as I have a clear conscience, am honest with myself, don't hurt others, and don't force myself, that's enough. I don't need to use it to gain anything, and I don't need it to trap you, or trap me."
Alexander's hand reaching toward her trembled violently.
These words...
These words—he had heard them years later in a hospital room, from Caroline whose mind was nearly broken, who couldn't remember anyone.
They bridged time and death, identical to what the sixteen-year-old her was saying now.
Her love never depended on whether it was returned.
Liking is just liking.
It includes everything about the other person, including the fact that "he might never like me back."
In that instant, Alexander suddenly felt utterly despicable.
He thought he understood her, loved her, wanted to make it up to her.
But only now, in this dream constructed by his subconscious, did he truly understand who Caroline was.
The real Caroline might be moved by being understood.
But that was never what kept her going.
She didn't need a savior, didn't need someone to show her the way.
Because she was her own light.
She seemed quiet, yet she could grow stubbornly in the most barren soil, and even in the worst circumstances she could still choose a path that didn't betray who she was.
And it was he—along with those desolate years that followed—who personally destroyed a life that should have been stubborn and free.