Chapter 15 - The Message I Knew He’d Never Read

I thought I was done.

I had survived the silence.

I had survived the distance.

I had even survived random clips without falling back in.

Or at least, that's what I believed.

Then one night, while scrolling, I saw an edit.

It wasn't dramatic.

No slow music.

No romantic captions.

Just a clip from one of his live videos.

Seo Juhan looked tired.

A little flushed.

He was laughing awkwardly and saying something like—

"The reason I want to talk about this thing is… the moment I talk about this, the company will freak out again… If I say anything about cigarettes or something… it's not something I should talk about…"

He looked slightly embarrassed.

Human.

Not polished. Not perfectly scripted.

Just human.

And then I read the comments saying he deleted that live because he was drunk.

I don't know why that detail hit me.

Maybe because for the first time in a long while, he didn't look like an edited comfort character.

He looked flawed.

Real.

I should have scrolled.

I did scroll.

Then another edit came.

Then another.

I skipped them.

I told myself, "Don't do this. Don't go back."

I even searched the full video for a second.

Then stopped.

Closed it.

Locked my phone.

I wasn't trying to protect my image.

I was trying to protect my progress.

But that night, something inside me felt restless.

Not because I wanted him more.

But because I realized something uncomfortable—

Even after all this time, even after quitting, even after growing up—

I was still capable of being pulled back.

That scared me.

So I did something I had never done before.

I searched his account.

I didn't follow him.

I couldn't.

Because following meant daily exposure.

And I knew myself well enough to know that daily exposure would bring daily attachment.

But I opened the message box.

My hands were steady.

My heart wasn't racing.

I wasn't crying.

I just typed.

"I know you'll never read this.

And I don't even love you the way people think fans love idols.

But no matter how much I try to stay away, I still get pulled back.

I don't want to be obsessed. I don't want to be unrealistic.

But somewhere inside me, there's still a selfish part that wishes you were mine.

I know I don't deserve you. I know that's stupid.

I don't even want you in real life.

I just needed to admit that part of me still hopes sometimes."

I read it twice.

It looked dramatic.

It looked childish.

It looked honest.

And then I sent it.

I knew he would never see it.

My message would drown under millions of others.

I wasn't expecting a reply.

I wasn't even expecting acknowledgment.

I just needed it out of my chest.

After sending it, I stared at the screen for a few seconds.

There was no relief explosion.

No breakdown.

Just… quiet.

Then I deleted the chat.

Not because I was ashamed.

But because I didn't want to turn it into a habit.

That message wasn't an invitation.

It was a confession to myself.

I didn't send it to reach him.

I sent it to understand me.

Because the truth was—

I didn't love Seo Juhan.

But I loved the idea of being chosen.

And that's something much harder to let go of.

That night, I slept without scrolling again.

Not because I was strong.

But because I had finally said the part out loud that I had been pretending didn't exist.

And sometimes, admitting your selfish hope is the first step toward truly letting it go.