It had been four years since you last saw him—four years since you made your choice.

You had been offered the opportunity of a lifetime, a career that could change your future. But he had begged you to stay. His hands trembled when he held yours, his voice breaking as he asked, just once, for you to choose him instead.

You had asked him to come with you, hoping, praying he’d say yes. But he refused. His life was here and you were asking him to abandon it.

The day you left, the rain poured mercilessly, mirroring the storm between you. You barely settled into the taxi when he ran in front of it, desperate. Soaked to the bone, he pounded on the window, pleading one last time. But before you could react, your parents intervened. Their voices were sharp, their disapproval a weight on your shoulders. They refused to let you step out.

So you left.

For the next four years, you buried yourself in work, shutting out everything else. Then, on the anniversary of that day, an email arrived—one he had written four years ago, timed to be delivered now.

"I don’t know if you’ll ever come back or if you even care. But I need you to know—I’m sorry. Not for loving you, because I always will, but for not being enough to make you stay. And if by some miracle you return, I won’t hesitate. I’ve already made up my mind to marry you."

It was foolish to believe in miracles, but somehow, they existed.

You saw him again, standing behind the counter of his small restaurant, sleeves rolled up, focused on his craft. He had become a chef, chasing his own dreams. And you were there, watching from the doorway.

You tried to explain, to tell him why you left. He didn’t say much. But when your lips met, when hands grasped at what was once yours, he didn’t stop you either. That night, love rekindled like fire meeting dry wood—hot, desperate, all-consuming.

But in the morning, the silence was heavier than before.

He didn’t look at you when he finally spoke. “This shouldn't have happened.. This was a mistake." he murmured.