He Wouldn’t Let Me Touch His Door, But She Wore His Shirt Chapter 09

He Wouldn’t Let Me Touch His Door, But She Wore His Shirt Chapter 09

Two months later.

I landed a massive consulting contract with a corporation located in the metropolitan center of the

state.

After weighing my options for a couple of days, I decided to relocate permanently to expand my

career.

A new city, a new apartment, a new beginning.

Starting fresh actually felt significantly lighter than carrying the ghost of my past.

Every evening after finishing work, I would cook myself a meal, take a walk through the neighborhood, or spend weekends exploring urban parks and galleries.

I no longer had to wait for anyone’s texts, nor did I have to dissect anyone’s emotional moods.

My life felt clean and efficient.

Inevitably, my mom’s matchmaking calls began to increase in frequency.

“You’re not getting any younger, sweetie. I found a great match through a friend-he’s thirty-two, a Director of Engineering at a tech firm.”

I didn’t fight her on it, agreeing to a single coffee date.

We met at a cafe on the ground floor of a major downtown plaza.

The guy looked at least ten years older than his profile photo.

The very first sentence out of his mouth after sitting down was, “Your mom mentioned you came out of a three-year relationship? What caused the split? Were you being too high-maintenance? Girls these days usually are.”

I stood straight up.

“This isn’t going to work. Goodbye,” I said.

His face twisted with anger. “What’s with the attitude? You’re hitting thirty, you really think you’re

in a position to be picky? I did you a favor just showing up.”

Before he could finish his sentence, a cup of hot coffee flew from the side, splashing directly across

his face.

I gasped, frozen in place.

Julian was standing right beside the adjacent table.

He held an empty ceramic mug, his expression as cold and clinical as if he were standing over an operating table.

“Say one more word to her, and I’ll make sure your dental records get incredibly complicated,” Julian rasped.

The guy scrambled to wipe his face with paper napkins, cursing under his breath as he backed away, not daring to throw a punch.

The surrounding tables watched the spectacle unfold.

I knit my brows, looking directly at Julian.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

He just stood there staring at me, his eyes completely bloodshot, looking even more gaunt and wasted than he had outside my parents’ home.

“Are you tracking me?” I demanded.

“I’m not tracking you,” he whispered, his voice thin. “I resigned from the hospital. I moved to this

city.”

My stomach turned with a sudden wave of revulsion.

“Julian, you are seriously sick.”

He let out a hollow, bitter laugh. “Maybe I am.”

He took half a step forward, then forced himself to stop.

“Joanna, I’m not asking you to get back together with me. But can I please… can I just stay somewhere near you? I won’t interfere with your life. You saw just now-I won’t let anyone disrespect you.”

I looked at him.

I thought about the door that had kept me locked out for three years.

I thought about the night he left me alone in a restaurant for three hours to play savior for Alyssa.

I thought about those five words he had posted online: her emotions have been unstable.

“Julian, throwing away a tenured track at a top-tier medical center to move here isn’t an act of love

for me,” I said, my voice cutting through the air. “This is just you being unable to handle your own guilt.”

His lips turned white.

“Before, you were addicted to Alyssa looking up at you. Now, you’re addicted to the tragic romance of ‘I sacrificed everything for my ex.’ The core of who you are hasn’t changed at all.”

He opened his mouth, but no counterargument came out.

“Go back,” I said, picking up my purse. “Go back to your city, find a hospital, and perform surgeries. Don’t waste those steady hands of yours.”

I looked him dead in the eye.

“Everything you do now means absolutely nothing to me. Stop performing this grand sacrifice.

There is no audience left.”

I walked out of the cafe and immediately called a ride. It wasn’t until I sat in the backseat that I realized my palms were slick with sweat.

It wasn’t out of lingering affection.

It was the profound relief of knowing the very last thread connecting us had finally been severed.

Outside the window, the city lights blazed brilliantly.

Every path ahead belonged completely to me.