Love Burned, She Rose Unscathed

As the temperature soared, the meteorological office issued a red alert.

The temperature had hovered around 95 degrees Fahrenheit for a week, pushing Owen's research to the brink of a breakthrough after relentless calculation and verification.

Finally catching a break, Owen was exhausted and trudged to his seventh-floor apartment, looking forward to a good night's sleep to recharge. However, a sudden noise from across the hallway halted his steps.

Pausing, he turned and knocked on the door opposite his. "Roseanne, are you in there?"

There was no response. Owen knocked again, but still nothing.

Hesitating for a second and contemplating whether to call for help, he heard the door unlocking. Roseanne peeked out, leaving the door just ajar.

"What's up?" Her demeanor was casual as if the knock had merely interrupted her day, her voice as calm as ever, betraying no sign of distress.

Yet, Owen couldn't shake off the feeling that something was off, like a rose wilting without water.

He was silent for a moment under Roseanne's puzzled gaze.

"You mentioned you worked on a

ago. I've been reviewing and waiting for the results for two

adjusted his glasses. "I have a paper, a work in progress. Would

Roseanne was surprised.

later, in Owen's apartment, sitting on the couch, Roseanne scanned the paper in her hands, her

breaking new ground topic-wise but approached the subject from a

"Is this your

started it in

felt a

ovel met

years later. It was like he was

kept asking, "Why didn't you publish

could perfect it. Look. These two sections lack solid experimental data to back the. conclusions. After switching my major, physics consumed al

regret flashed in his

"Then why show