She went home. Deleted his number. Sat on her bathroom floor and stared at the tiles.
He was sitting alone in the back of a tea shop, reading a dog-eared copy of The Bell Jar , wearing a black turtleneck in July. His face was sharp, pale, and utterly empty—like a beautiful mask with nothing behind it. No phone. No smile. No aura of wanting anything at all.
The rush came back. That old familiar tingle. Jae was warm, open, chaotic. He wrote her a song after three days. He called her “beautiful” like it was her name. He made her laugh until her stomach hurt. love junkie new manhua
For two weeks, Mira told herself this was better. Healthier. Dohun was a locked door; Jae was a front porch with the lights on.
Then she said, “I think I’m addicted to falling. And I don’t know how to just… be .” She went home
“I’m Mira,” she said. “I’m going to make you laugh before you finish that chapter.”
“That’s a downer of a book for a sunny day,” she said, sliding into the seat across from him without asking. He was sitting alone in the back of
To a love junkie, “nothing” was the most addictive drug of all.