I read love like a slow unraveling- the kind that starts with hatred, sharp words, and distance, and ends with surrender that feels almost sinful.

Young-adult romance is my weakness: 
slow burns that ache, enemies who fall harder than they fight, tension that lingers longer than the kiss ever does.

Every story I touch sharpens my standards, teaching me that real love is not gentle-it is patient, dangerous, and earned in fire.

I'm drawn to characters who resist until they break, to stories that bruise before they heal, and to endings that haunt long after the last page.

I don't just read romance.
I survive it.