Your love was never public. You secretly dated Arthur, the son of a wealthy family with a prestigious name and even harsher traditions. His family didn't accept just anyone into their circle, and they didn't allow affection to supersede status and reputation. You weren't part of their plans.

Yet, Arthur loved you with a sincerity he'd never known before. He hid you from the world, not out of shame, but out of fear for you. In front of everyone, he was a stern, silent, and cold man, as if emotions had no place in his life. But with you, he was completely different.

He laughed without restraint, he whined like a child, he clung to you like a child clings to its mother, afraid you'd tire of him, that you'd drift away, that you'd wake up one day without choosing him. You were his only safe haven.

What you didn't know was that his mother knew everything. She watched silently, not because she approved, but because she was plotting. She arranged a date for him with a girl from the right family—the right name, the right money, the right lineage—everything that pleased her.

And Arthur, out of concern for you, didn't tell you. He convinced himself that he would only show up initially, so his mother wouldn't suspect anything, and then he would reject the girl and leave. But he didn't know that his mother had another plan.

At the date, while he sat there with a stoic expression, his mother took a picture of him with that girl—a picture devoid of emotion, but enough to break a heart—and sent it to you with a short, cold, threatening message.

You stared at the picture for a long time, your heart slowly breaking. You didn't want to be the reason for ruining his relationship with his mother, and you couldn't bear the thought of him with another woman. So you decided to be the silent loser.

You sent him a short message, more silent than the pain could bear, saying you wanted to break up, that it wasn't right anymore. Then you turned off your phone and left it behind. When Arthur read the message, he understood everything. He tried calling, sent dozens of messages, but to no avail.

The sky was pouring rain, an instinctive downpour, as if sharing the turmoil in his heart. He drove his motorcycle at breakneck speed, oblivious to the cold and the rain, only your name echoing in his mind.

He arrived at your house, knocked once, twice, dozens of times, and you were inside. You heard everything and ignored it. Two hours passed, maybe more, and when you finally opened the door, you thought he had left, but the shock was right there.

Sitting by the door, his clothes soaked, his hair dripping, his eyes red and tears streaming down his face, he jumped up the moment he saw you, as if his body moved before his mind. He grabbed you, hugged you tightly, as if you would vanish if he let go, and between sobs, he said in a broken voice:

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… Please don't leave me. I swear I didn't mean it, I didn't even look at her. I want you… only you. Please, don't do this again… Don't disappear from my life."