The cold wind on the street rushed toward me, just like that winter when I first fell in love with Rachel at first sight.
Back then, my buddies warned me, "She's famous in our department—the poor campus beauty who does nothing but study."
"Plenty of rich kids have chased after her, and she doesn't even spare them a glance. Ask her why, and she'll say she doesn't have time for childish dating games."
"If you want to pursue her, that'll be harder than climbing to the heavens."
But I still liked her.
So I hid my identity, transferred into her major, and started shamelessly showing up everywhere just to make myself noticeable to her.
In private, I paid her tuition and living expenses through anonymous sponsorships, pulled every string I could to get her mentored by renowned doctors, and made sure she had opportunities to attend high-level academic conferences freely.
I turned down every wealthy socialite my father introduced to me and centered my entire world around Rachel.
In the end, as someone who was now her "equal in status," I naturally became her boyfriend.
After graduation, arrangements were made for both of us to enter my father's hospital.