The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 528

Class was over. Sloane walked out of the academic building hugging her lesson plans. The harsh winter wind rushed at her face, carrying the dry, biting chill characteristic of northern cities, and she instinctively pulled the collar of her coat tighter.

Dead leaves from the French sycamores along the campus track swirled around her boots. A few students rode past her on shared bikes, the cheerful ringing of bells and distant laughter fading into the cold air.

Josh was waiting for her under the ginkgo tree opposite the building.

He wore a dark gray overcoat, a scarf draped loosely around his neck. He looked noticeably thinner than he had a week ago, his jawline sharper, almost severe. But his eyes were still clear and transparent, like an undisturbed lake.

Sloane quickened her pace toward him. Her eyes rested on his face for a moment, her tone laced with genuine concern. "Josh, I heard you took sick leave for the past few days. How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine now," Josh replied gently, handing her the hot cup he had been keeping warm in his hands. "Here. Your favorite. A honey-infused latte."

Sloane took the cup, the warmth seeping directly into her freezing palms. She glanced down at the custom label—*half-sweet*—and a faint smile touched her lips. She looked up at him. "You remembered the sugar."

Josh nodded. "Yeah. Too much sugar is bad for you."

"Speaking of bad for you, you definitely haven't been eating properly these past few days, have you? Look how much weight you've lost."

Josh's eyes were quiet, and the corners of his lips curved upward. "I'm really okay, Sloane. I'll put it right back on in a few days. Do you have some time? I'd like... to take a walk with you."

Cradling the warm cup, Sloane thought about it. She didn't have any afternoon classes, and her grading wasn't urgent.

She nodded. "Sure."

They walked out of the campus gates side by side, strolling slowly along the university's outer brick wall.

The sidewalks were relatively empty. Occasionally, someone on a bike would ring a bell as they passed from behind. Neither of them spoke first.

As they walked, Sloane began to realize the street looked unfamiliar. She turned her head, glancing at Josh, noticing he was walking incredibly slowly, as if mentally preparing a speech.

"Sloane," he finally spoke. "How is Dr. Foster recovering?"

"He's been discharged," she said. "His broken arm will take some time to heal, but otherwise, he's okay."

Josh nodded, his eyes fixed on the pavement beneath his boots. After a long silence, he added, "We really owe him for what happened. If he hadn't..." He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing sharply. "I genuinely can't even bear to imagine what would have happened to you..."

Sloane stopped walking and turned to face him.

In those deep, ink-black eyes, an intense emotion was churning—guilt. Deep, suffocating guilt.

She had known Josh for twenty years. Since he was young, he had never been good at apologizing; whenever he made a mistake, he would just bottle it up inside and brood for ages. Right now, he looked exactly like a little boy who had done something terribly wrong and was waiting to be scolded.