After the 99th Confession

My name is Anna Scott, and the engagement with Calvin Luke has been a mark etched into my very bones for as long as I can remember. That year, I was five years old, dressed in a pink princess dress, holding my mother's hand as we entered the Luke family's old residence. The magnolia tree in the courtyard was in full bloom, its white petals drifting onto the blue stone slabs like a delicate blanket of snow. Calvin Luke wore a little suit and stood beside Old Mr. Luke, his face already bearing the faint, cool contours of maturity. The adults smiled as they gently placed our hands together, saying, "Anna, this is Calvin. He will be your fiancé from now on." I looked up at Calvin Luke, who was half a head taller than me, but he frowned, withdrew his hand, and whispered, "I don't want to marry him." My eyes filled with tears on the spot, but stubbornly I did not cry, silently vowing in my heart: I must become brave so that Calvin will like me. That moment marked the beginning of a twenty-year journey. The adults always said we were a match made in heaven. The Luke family and the Scott family are longstanding family friends. The red string of our arranged engagement has been tied since our birth. Neighbors and townsfolk would meet and tease with a smile, "Anna, when will you and Calvin hold your wedding? We're still waiting to celebrate." I believed those words. From a naïve girl with braided pigtails, I grew into a graceful young lady, yet my heart and eyes have always belonged to only one person: Calvin Luke. I tried to mimic the habits he liked, giving up my favorite sweets because he said a girl must keep her figure. I gave up my beloved painting because he said learning such things was useless. I even softened my tone, speaking gently and quietly, fearful of displeasing him. To make him willingly marry me, I cast aside all pride and embarked on a long, arduous courtship. The first marriage proposal came at his eighteenth birthday party. The banquet hall was brilliantly illuminated, filled to the brim with guests. I hid backstage, nervously clutching ninety-nine paper cranes I had folded over the past month, each wing inscribed in silver ink with 'Calvin, marry me.' When it was my turn to present the gift, my face flushed as if it could boil an egg, my voice trembling: "Calvin Luke, happy birthday. I... I want to marry you. Please marry me." He held his wine glass, raised an eyebrow with a smile, his eyes betraying no emotion as he said casually, "Wait until I turn twenty." Everyone around us laughed, saying our childhood betrothal was truly sweet, but I distinctly saw him turn away and casually hand the string of paper cranes to his assistant nearby. The second time was at his university graduation ceremony. I deliberately wore the white dress he had once said was "not bad," applied light makeup, and held a custom couple's bracelet, its pendant engraved with the initials of our names. After the graduation ceremony, I waited for him beneath his dormitory and repeated the same request once more: "Calvin Luke, now that you've graduated, will you marry me?" He took the bracelet but tossed it into his pocket without even looking, his tone tinged with impatience: "Anna Scott, you're too eager." Right now, I only want to focus on my career; I don't want to be bound by marriage. After saying that, he walked away laughing and chatting with his classmates, leaving me standing alone, the warmth of the bracelet box still lingering in my hand. The third time was on his first birthday after starting work. The tenth time was on the fifteenth anniversary of our acquaintance. The thirtieth time was at the celebration banquet for his successful startup. I specially bought a thick notebook to record every marriage proposal—the date, the place, and his reaction. Each page bore a tiny red checkmark, as the count steadily neared triple digits. My friends all urged me to give up. My close friend Shirley Lincoln held my hand and said, "Anna, wake up—Calvin Luke has never truly had you in his heart." If he liked you, he would have accepted long ago. Why else would he let you propose ninety-nine times? But I refuse to believe it. Even the occasional kindness he grudgingly showed became my reason to keep going. On rainy days, he would have the driver send me an umbrella. Working late into the night, he would have his assistant bring me a cup of hot coffee. When I was sick, he would frown and urge me to take my medicine properly. I treasured those seemingly insignificant moments like precious gems, revisiting them over countless nights and telling myself to hold on a little longer, just to wait for him to turn back.