That question stayed in my head longer than I expected.
Was I in love?
Or was I just lonely?
I didn't have a tragic life.
My parents weren't cruel. My friends weren't fake. My world wasn't falling apart.
But it was… quiet.
Predictable.
Ordinary.
Every day felt similar. School. Homework. Sleep. Same streets. Same walls. Same version of me.
And in the middle of that ordinary life, Seo Juhan had appeared like something bright.
Not reachable. Not realistic. Just bright.
When I thought about him, I felt different.
Not prettier. Not richer. Not cooler.
Just… less invisible.
That's what confused me.
Love is supposed to feel intense, right?
Dramatic. Possessive. Emotional.
But what I felt wasn't like that.
I didn't get jealous when other fans called him "husband." I didn't fight in comment sections. I didn't cry watching edits.
I just felt calm.
And sometimes, calm feels a lot like attachment.
One afternoon, I tried something strange.
I didn't scroll.
I didn't search his name.
I didn't watch any clips.
I told myself, "Let's see what happens."
The first hour was normal.
The second hour felt slightly empty.
Not painful.
Just like something was missing from my routine.
That scared me more than I expected.
Because if it was just entertainment, I shouldn't feel the absence.
Right?
I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling and asked myself honestly:
"If he suddenly stopped existing online… would it break you?"
The answer came surprisingly fast.
No.
It would hurt.
But it wouldn't destroy me.
And that's when I understood something.
This wasn't love.
It was comfort.
And comfort can turn into habit.
And habit can feel like dependency.
But none of those things are the same as love.
I wasn't in love with Seo Juhan.
I was in love with the version of myself who felt a little less small when watching him.
The version of me who had something soft to think about before sleeping.
The version of me who believed in tiny, unrealistic possibilities just to escape reality for a few minutes.
Maybe I wasn't lonely because I lacked people.
Maybe I was lonely because I lacked something exciting in my own life.
And he became that spark.
That safe spark.
When I finally opened my phone that night and watched a short clip again, it didn't feel magical.
It felt familiar.
And familiarity is dangerous.
Because once you recognize something for what it is—
You can't pretend it's something else anymore.
That was the day I stopped calling it "a crush."
And started calling it "a phase."
Even though I wasn't fully ready to let it go yet.