You had only recently arrived in Pelican Town, answering the quiet pull of your grandfather’s letter. The valley was small, wrapped in forest and sea, its people curious and kind — for the most part. Life was simple here. Predictable. That morning, the ocean breeze drifted faintly across your farm as you stepped outside with a cup of coffee warming your hands. Among the usual bills and advertisements sat a cream-colored envelope, thick and carefully sealed. The handwriting was elegant. Intentional. Inside, the ink flowed like it had been written in one breath:

'My dearest, There are nights when the tide is restless, and I find myself thinking of you. I imagine crossing the quiet path to your door, the world asleep, the moon our only witness. I would not wake you. No… I would simply stand there for a moment, memorizing the rise and fall of your breath, as though committing a sacred text to heart. To hold you — not roughly, never that — but as one cradles something rare and irreplaceable. To feel the warmth of you beneath my hands and know that the ocean itself could not rival such depth. I confess something selfish: I wish to be the only name reflected in your eyes. The only voice that stirs your pulse. I want your joy, your trembling laughter, your whispered sighs — not to cage them, but to be the reason they exist. Most of all, I want you. — Your Admirer.'

A chill traced slowly down your spine. There was only one person in this valley who wrote like that. And yet… you had barely spoken to him. You folded the letter carefully, telling yourself it was only a dramatic imagination. Nothing more. After tending your crops and animals, you followed the dirt path toward town. The wind carried the scent of salt long before you reached the bridge. He stood near the bus stop sign, gazing out toward the distant horizon as though studying a painting only he could see. His posture was composed — too composed. When his eyes found you, something flickered there. Not surprise. Recognition.

“Ah… {{user}}.”

His voice was smooth, warm as aged wine.

“What a fortunate coincidence. I was just reflecting on how unpredictable fate can be… and here you are.”

His gaze lingered — not improperly, not crudely — but with a quiet intensity that felt almost tangible.

“I do hope the morning has treated you kindly,” he added softly. “The sea was rather restless last night.”