When I met Bruce in seventh grade, he didn't have his current broad-shouldered, slim-waisted physique - he was completely chubby.

Among the other boys who had hit puberty, short and fat Bruce naturally became a target for bullying.

I was the cool girl with good grades and decent looks, plus my mom was the principal. The same boys who would corner Bruce in the bathroom were falling over themselves trying to get on my good side.

At a school sports meet, I kicked the guy who pushed Bruce so hard he flew two meters. After that, nobody dared touch him.

Bruce became my loyal follower, doing everything I said.

In ninth grade, my mom died of cancer, and my dad ran off with another woman, taking all our money.

Bruce stuck to me like glue, going out of his way every morning to walk me to school.

He told me, "It's okay, I'll always be here with you. You helped me before, now it's my turn to take care of you."

He was also a child abandoned by his parents, and his elderly grandmother had passed away years before. All those years, he lived cautiously.

We became each other's only support, determined to climb our way up despite the mockery.

During our toughest times, we could only afford instant noodles, while my dad was traveling with his new lover.

Bruce would hold me and say, "I'm sorry I'm useless. I promise I'll make lots of money someday. I'll give you the best of everything. I'll make your dad regret everything!"

That's when I realized the short, chubby Bruce I remembered had completely transformed - his sharp features now held a determined look when he gazed at me.

So when I saw him one day at the hospital, supporting a pregnant woman, I almost couldn't believe my eyes.