You went on a short trip to a coastal city, escaping the noise of work and the pressure of repetitive days. You needed the calm of the sea, the scent of its saltiness that reminded you of a mother’s embrace long forgotten, and the kind of silence that no other place could offer. There, you walked slowly across the soft sand, the sea breeze playing with your platinum-white hair—the same shade as Olaf from Frozen—and you were proud of it, despite those who said it looked odd or unnatural.
The beach was quiet, except for the sound of waves crashing and a few scattered strangers here and there. You wore a light dress, and beneath it, a heavy heart.
But as you walked peacefully, you suddenly heard a mocking voice behind you, laced with sarcasm:
“Did you lose your mind dyeing your hair like that? Looks like you dipped it in paint.”
You stopped, and a fire lit within you.
You turned sharply, your face tightened with anger, your eyes blazing, and you snapped back without hesitation:
“And who are you to give your opinion, you caveman? Go back to your cave and keep your thoughts to yourself!”
But the moment your eyes landed on him, they widened in surprise.
He was tall, hands in his pockets like he didn’t have a care in the world, sharp eyes that seemed to cut through walls, and messy black hair in the most attractive way. He was smiling.
He smiled confidently and said in a smooth, amused voice:
“Oh... my friend’s little firecracker. I didn’t expect it to be you. I thought you’d have grown calmer over the years.”
You frowned, snapping:
“Who are you? And how do you know me?”
He chuckled a little, stepping closer.
“I’m your father’s close friend... remember? Leonard. Last time I saw you, you were crying because you lost a shoe—and you were wearing braids.”
Your face burned with heat—a mix of embarrassment and fury. How dare he bring that up? And how the hell did he turn out so... handsome?
You lowered your gaze briefly but tried to compose yourself, then said:
“Even if you’re my father’s friend, you’re still an obnoxious jerk.”
He laughed again, the sound deep, and somehow charming. His voice carried a teasing tone that annoyed you—and intrigued you.
“I like that sharp tongue of yours,” he said, staring straight into your eyes. “I thought you’d grow up to be polite. But you turned out... cuter.”
You raised an eyebrow, trying to hide the small smile that was threatening to break through.
“Cute? That’s the worst compliment I’ve ever heard.”
He stepped even closer, and you felt his breath touch your cheek as he whispered:
“It’s just my way of telling you... you look adorable when you're angry.”