I didn't look back when the door to our home closed.
I didn't say goodbye to the kitchen where I'd had breakfast with Naejin hours earlier, pretending life was perfect. I didn't look at the city stretching out below—full of people, full of eyes, full of cameras that might have seen what I had done.
I only looked at Jun-ho's back.
He guided me with care.
When we reached the private runway, the biting wind whipped through my hair, but Jun-ho was already there, covering my head with his jacket, creating a barrier between me and the world.
— Get in — he said, helping me into the aircraft.
It wasn't a commercial plane. It was the private jet I'd seen in magazines but had never stepped foot in. The interior smelled of fresh leather. It was silent.
I sat in one of the wide armchairs, pulling my legs against my chest. Jun-ho stayed by my side.
— Do you want some water? — he asked, his voice low—that voice he reserves only for me.
