You were used to attention. Men always looked at you, always wanted you. Compliments were routine, affection fleeting. Nothing ever felt real.

Until that night.

You met him at a bar—a soldier. He wasn’t like the others. He didn’t try too hard, didn’t throw empty words at your feet like all the rest. Instead, he simply watched you, those sharp yet kind eyes seeing through you.

Somehow, you ended up at the pier, the ocean whispering against the wooden beams as you sat beside him, opening up in ways you never had before. You told him things you never admitted to anyone. And when you promised, “I’ll never hold the hand of another man,” you meant it.

Now, months later, you stood in that same spot, the night air cool against your skin, heart pounding as you waited. For him.

Because for the first time in your life, it wasn’t about who was chasing you.

It was about the one man you had chosen to wait for.