I stared blankly at the lace lingerie scattered on my bed, then at the two entangled figures downstairs.
A tear slipped from the corner of my eye.
They kissed so deeply that a thin strand of silver string formed between them when they parted. The girl playfully punched Shawn’s chest, laughing.
That night, it wasn’t until 1 AM that my mattress dipped slightly.
Shawn only lingered beside my waist for a moment before quickly pulling away.
Of course. What was I expecting?
In our five years together, our love had been purely platonic.
Not only had we never kissed—we had never even held hands.
If his fingertips accidentally brushed mine, he would immediately wipe them with a tissue for half a day.
His explanation?
He wanted our love to remain pure, sacred, untarnished by anything physical. So I had no choice but to suppress my growing desires.
But if that was true—then who was the one passionately kissing someone else yesterday?
A cold voice suddenly rang from the doorway. "Ayra, get up and make dinner."
I glanced at the clock—it was only 5 pm.
Before I could respond, Shawn added, "We have a guest coming today. She likes spicy crawfish and stir-fried squid."