I have been single for thirty years and have never even held a man's hand.
On my thirtieth birthday, I was kicked out by my landlord. I was considered useless by my parents and could not even afford cake candles.
Standing at the bus stop, I looked at the rent urging messages on my phone and suddenly went crazy.
The handsome man in a black shirt next to me became the target of my provocation.
Standing on tiptoes, raising her head, she kissed him on the lips.
Soft, cool, with a refreshing tobacco smell.
After the kiss, I turned around and ran away, even laughing as I ran.
What are you afraid of? Anyway, I have nothing. This city is so big, who can find me?
Think of it as a birthday present for my thirty rotten years.
But the next day, I dragged my suitcase and knocked on the door of the newly rented house.
The moment the door opened, I froze on the spot.
The man I forcibly kissed yesterday was standing in the entrance hall, looking down at me.
He held the rental contract between his fingertips and said in a voice as cold as ice:
"Tenant, you ran away after kissing me yesterday, and now you want to default on your debt?"
Me: ... Help, who can tell me why my new landlord is him?
