Certainly. Here is the full translation, with all {}-enclosed content preserved in their original Chinese form, and all other content translated into natural English, with formatting and punctuation maintained as per your instructions:

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Ian Mitchell just had to butt in, saying with a headache, “If you want it, I’ll just give it to you. That way I can finally have some peace and quiet.”

At the time, she was truly innocent, standing off to the side, not saying a word, yet trouble still found her. These law school people—each one’s words were sharper than the last.

But from then on, she remembered Henry Wilson.

Seeing Mason Scott looking a bit absent-minded, Henry Wilson suddenly spoke up: “Actually, I’ve never understood why, back in college, you became Ian Mitchell’s girlfriend. You must have known that there were a lot of girls who liked Ian Mitchell back then—many of them prettier, smarter, and more outstanding than you.”

Mason Scott didn’t know why he was suddenly bringing up the past, so she just kept silent and listened.

He had a reminiscing look: “One of the entertainments in our dorm back then was betting on which girl would finally win over Ian Mitchell. One night, after lights out, we started betting again—someone bet on the campus belle from our department, someone else on the talented girl who did debate competitions with Ian Mitchell, and I think I bet on a girl from the foreign languages department.”

He smiled, recalling their youthful recklessness: “Ian Mitchell always had a ‘three no’s’ policy toward our activities—no approval, no response, no participation. He’d just read his books and sleep while we made a racket. But that time, after we’d all placed our bets, he suddenly said—‘I bet on Mason Morgan.’” Henry Wilson looked at her. “That was the first time I heard your name.”

So that’s probably why people later said she was his girlfriend. Ian Mitchell never mentioned any of this.

“You can imagine how curious we were about you, and when we finally met you, we were even more surprised. Ian Mitchell always had a maturity and calmness beyond his years, so in our minds, his girlfriend should be mature and sensible too. But you,” Henry Wilson said tactfully, “were completely unexpected.”

“To be honest, I didn’t think you two would work out at first. But Ian Mitchell gradually started acting like a normal twenty-year-old guy. He’d get so mad at you he’d jump up and down, and sometimes, when he was in a good mood, he’d let us order him around and wash all the clothes in the dorm. Hmm, like on his birthday that time…”

Something like that happened to Ian Mitchell? How unbelievable.

On his birthday, she’d searched the whole city but couldn’t find a satisfactory gift. In the end, she showed up at his dorm building after ten at night, exhausted and empty-handed, just to wish him a happy birthday.

Ian Mitchell looked stern and asked her, “Where have you been today? Where’s my present?”

Of course, she had nothing to give. Ian Mitchell glared at her fiercely for a long time, then finally said in defeat, “Forget it! Close your eyes.”

She closed her eyes, and then he leaned down and kissed her. That was their first kiss.

She still remembered how, after opening her eyes, she foolishly said to him, “Ian Mitchell, it’s not even my birthday today.”

The coffee in the cup trembled slightly, and with a “ding,” it was set back on the table.

Why did this person have to bring up so many things from the past? Can’t you just stop?

“These are the things you wanted me to know?” she interrupted him.

Henry Wilson stopped, his expression hard to read. After a while, he looked at her and slowly shook his head. “Mason Morgan, you really are heartless.”

Yes, she was heartless to everyone.

Henry Wilson said no more. He took out a pen and paper, wrote down two lines, and handed them to her. Mason Scott took it; on it was the name of a hospital and a room number.

What is this?

“With the way he works, it wouldn’t be surprising if he died young, let alone just a ‘minor’ stomach hemorrhage.” Henry Wilson’s usually gentle voice was cold and hard. “I’m giving you the hospital address. Whether you go or not is up to you. I don’t know what happened between you two, but Mason Morgan!” His tone was full of reproach. “You can’t be too selfish!”

He finished, paid the bill, and left. Mason Scott sat there, stunned by the news. The slip of paper was clenched tightly in her hand, her short nails digging painfully into her flesh, but she didn’t even realize she should let go. Stomach hemorrhage, hospital, Ian Mitchell… Was it because of her? Could it really be because of her?

The coffee was already cold. Mason Scott pushed open the café door; at some point, it had started to rain outside. How could it rain at a time like this? Especially this kind of endless, drizzling rain.

She actually managed to hail a cab easily. The driver was overly enthusiastic and, after hearing her destination, started asking questions nonstop.

“Miss, is your friend sick?”

“Miss, are you a student or do you work?”

“Miss…”

“Miss…”

Mason Scott replied with “mm” and “oh,” her eyes looking out the window. Every word the driver said passed by her ears, but she didn’t really hear a single one. The scenery outside flashed past her eyes, but she had no idea what she was seeing. There weren’t even any red lights along the way; she arrived at the hospital so quickly, and found Ian Mitchell’s room so easily. But standing in front of the door, her hand felt as heavy as a thousand pounds—she just couldn’t lift it to knock.

But should she leave? Her feet felt just as heavy, unable to move even a step.

For a moment, she felt as if things would stay like this forever—afraid to get closer, but unwilling to leave. So, for all eternity, for as long as the universe existed, she would stand outside his door.

But how could anything last forever? What must come will come, no matter how you try to avoid it. The door was pulled open from inside, and before she could dodge, she came face to face with that person.

Amy Mitchell.

Some people seem destined to meet again and again, always for the same reasons—like Amy Mitchell and her.

Later, Mason Scott often wondered, what kind of feelings did this gentle, poetic girl have when she heard the man she loved introduce her to others as “this is my sister”? Back then, when she had thick skin and introduced herself as “I’m your brother’s girlfriend” and Ian Mitchell didn’t refute it, how much did it hurt her?

And now, when she saw her and actually gave her a gentle smile, how much hidden bitterness was there in that smile?

Ah! Amy Mitchell, Amy Mitchell, it’s been so long.

“Mason Scott, I finally see you again.”

Yes, finally.

“Are you here to see Ian Mitchell?” Amy Mitchell asked. “He just fell asleep. If you have time, could you come with me to his place? I need to get some things for him.”

Mason Scott hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”

“He… is he alright?”

“He’s fine. The doctor said as long as he gets more rest and watches his diet, he’ll be okay.”

“That’s good,” Mason Scott said softly.

On the way, they chatted about recent events. Amy Mitchell said, “I was going to look for you earlier, but I was suddenly transferred by my company and got so busy I barely knew which way was up. I finally managed to come back, and then Ian Mitchell suddenly got sick. Ah, I finally understand the pain of being a career woman.”

Mason Scott said, “I never thought you’d become such a strong woman.”

“And you too! Back then you were always skipping class, running around with a camera taking random pictures. Who would have thought you’d become a photographer?”

Mason Scott laughed. “I’m still just taking random pictures.”

Amy Mitchell couldn’t help but laugh. “If your boss heard you say that, he’d be furious… We’re here, it’s right here.” She stopped, took out the key, and opened the door. Mason Scott paused for a moment, then followed her inside.

Ian Mitchell’s home was on the twelfth floor of a high-end residential complex in the west of the city. The apartment was large, but looked empty, with not a single unnecessary item. Only a few magazines left open on the coffee table made it look like someone actually lived there.

“We’ve all been busy these past few years, only getting together occasionally,” Amy Mitchell said as she tidied up. She opened the fridge and shook her head helplessly. “As expected, there’s nothing in here. He’s probably the worst person in the world at taking care of himself. Last time I came, I actually saw him eating instant noodles. I couldn’t stand it and dragged him to the supermarket, and that’s when I ran into you.”

Ian Mitchell had always been like this—how could Mason Scott not know? There was always something more important than eating for him. The only way to deal with someone like that was to say, “If you don’t eat, I won’t eat either.”

“Oh, right,” Amy Mitchell suddenly said. “I’m getting married soon, did you know? The groom is my boss—a real Cinderella story.”

Mason Scott stared at her in surprise. “You’re getting married?”

“Yes, I’m getting married.” She nodded with a smile, a bit wistful. “I only said those things to you before because I was young and didn’t understand. Later, I realized that some things just can’t be fought for. I gave up on Ian Mitchell a long time ago.”

“Why?”

“Probably because I couldn’t wait as long as he could. He can wait year after year, even when there’s almost no hope. But I can’t.” Amy Mitchell paused, then said, “About three or four years ago, Ian Mitchell won a big case. A few of us from the firm went out to celebrate, and he got really drunk. I brought him home. He was a mess, and while I was cleaning him up, he suddenly hugged me and kept asking, ‘Why won’t you come back? I’m ready to give up everything, so why won’t you come back?’”

Amy Mitchell paused, giving a bitter smile. “If that wasn’t enough to make me give up… Come with me.”

She led Mason Scott to the study, pulled out a book at random, flipped to a certain page, and handed it to her. “I found this by accident, and it’s not just in this book…”

Mason Scott stared blankly at the page, at the messy lines of poetry. From the scrawled handwriting, she could imagine how agitated and troubled the writer must have been.

With a “snap,” she closed the book. Amy Mitchell was still saying something, but she could no longer hear it.