Your love with Simon had been one born from stolen glances in the schoolyard, whispered promises under flickering streetlights, and a devotion that had weathered every storm—except the one your parents created.

They saw him as unworthy, a butchers boy with no future, no proper standing. And when they arranged for him to be sent away, far from you, he had no choice but to comply.

The rain was relentless, soaking through your clothes as you ran to the harbor, desperate to see him one last time. The ferry was already pulling away, taking Simon with it, and no matter how loudly you called for him, the waves carried your voice away. Gone. He was gone.

You stood there, chest heaving, tears mixing with the rain, heartbreak sinking its claws into you. Until the gasps of bystanders pulled you from your grief.

There—in the icy water, fighting against the current—was Simon. His uniform weighed him down, but his strokes were strong, relentless, driven by something more powerful than logic. You.

Simon reached the dock, pulling himself up, panting, drenched, but his eyes burned with a fire that not even the storm could quench.

"Not leavin’ you," he said, breathless, unshakable. "Not now. Not ever."