"Do you love me?"
"No love."
"Then why are you with me?"
"Idiot."
"Ignore you"
"Okay, okay, I'm just teasing you. Don't ask me like this again. It's boring to keep asking like this."
"Okay..."
. . . . . .
It wasn't until many years later that I truly understood that not loving means truly not loving. The first person who lived in his heart had locked his heart, and I couldn't open it no matter how hard I tried.