Lay Your Eyes on Jasmine - Chapter 72.1

Chapter 72.1

“Come on, there’s no need to talk like that. When you’re in a relationship, all sorts of things happen, don’t they? It’s not like you were cheating or anything. I think it’s just a communication issue.”

Nysa scratched his head awkwardly, but Risha, drunk and staring blankly into space, spoke bluntly.

“Objectively, it’s not like you did something so wrong that you deserve to be trashed. The problem is that Lady Jasmine waited for you—desperately, for a long, long time. Even if it was one-sided, feelings are still feelings. She had to factor that in. That’s how the human heart works. You can’t help but consider everything. Our own struggles are what matter the most, not other people’s.”

Risha’s slurred words pierced his heart. Even though they were as provocative as always, Richard silently kept drinking as if in agreement. One glass, two, three… until Nysa angrily told him to stop.

It was a silly thought, but he couldn’t help but imagine.

How wonderful it would be to turn back time, to go back to the ball where he first saw sixteen-year-old Jasmine and start over.

If he had recognized her the moment they first met, felt the same attraction, had their first relationship, first kiss, first date, and first night together, and built memories step by step, proposing to her only when the time was right, she would have been overjoyed and accepted while crying tears of joy.

If only.

Without any twists or wounds. She wouldn’t know the pain of rejection or any hurt. The thought of the scars she must bear from the pain he caused made his heart ache.

‘Why was I so young and foolish that I didn’t recognize you?’

Unlike the foolish him, Jasmine recognized him at a glance. Even if it wasn’t then, he had plenty of other chances.

‘Why? Why did I just glance past you, you who stood out the most, and move on? Why?’

The fact remains painfully clear…

Despite everything, he still wanted her back.

How does he define this lowly and desperate feeling of wanting to approach her again despite his hesitation?

This anger, pain, the feeling of being pushed to his limits, discovering parts of himself he didn’t know, this longing, preciousness, and the trembling regret—how does he define these emotions?

Ah, at this point, he could no longer deny it.

He loves her.

If this madness and strange attachment can be called love. If this twisted, sticky feeling that he struggles to understand can also be called love.

A hollow laugh escaped him. What was this? It was a ludicrously easy surrender. She, now far away, had effortlessly dismantled his defenses. Completely and utterly.

But he would willingly crumble if it meant he could have her back, if it meant she could come back into his life, into her own. Anything. Whatever it takes.

In the midst of his confusion, a clear and piercing question emerged from his mind.

“Do you love me?”

“If you tell me to answer right now, I can respond to that question anytime.”

“If Richard could just say those three words to me, everything would be resolved. Answer it. Can you say it?”

If he had given her the answer she wanted then, the truth he had just realized…

Would their outcome have been different?

He didn’t try to find the answer. It hurt too much.

Because if he did, he would be angry, furious at himself for being such an idiot, barely able to contain his frustration.

No one ever told him that this overwhelming and even sickening attachment was love. People must be strange. How could they live their lives talking about love as if under a spell of such bizarre and destructive emotions? Even one experience felt like it could kill him.

Love was just one of many emotions to him, and he thought it was simply tender, warm, and precious. But his understanding was shattered. His quick-wittedness, which had allowed him to grasp and establish values and a worldview earlier than others, was shaken to its core.

As a smart person’s weakness, he had steadfastly believed in something once it was set, unaware it could be wrong. His understanding of human emotions was superficial, clumsy, and analytical rather than empathetic, so feeling it was naturally different.

Is this what love is?

Love was never just kind and gentle.

It’s cruel, seductive, and destructive like a monster. It resembled madness.

‘Did Jasmine feel the same? How did she endure this for seven years?’ In another sense, Richard couldn’t understand Jasmine. It suffocated him.

And so, here he stood.

Late at night, everything was silent.

Richard smoked a cigarette, watching the smoke blend into the night sky. The white spirals rose, passing the streetlights, trees, and walls, drifting over the grand mansion’s roof and the intricately carved windows below.

A bright orange light glowed through the white curtains in one of the windows.

Which one is Jasmine’s room? Seeing shadows flicker beyond the lit window, it seemed she was still awake.

What did she usually do at this hour? Drink tea and read a book? Snack and chat? He regretted not knowing more about her because they spent most evenings tangled together. He never thought he’d regret that someday.