The sun blazed overhead as Finn strode into the open field, his black tunic billowing in the wind. His stormy gray eyes scanned the horizon, searching for the messenger who had delayed his plans. He didn’t expect to find you there instead, standing with your arms crossed, a defiant glare aimed straight at him.

“You’re in my way,” he said sharply, his tone clipped.

“And you’re the one who’s late,” you retorted without hesitation.

Finn’s brow furrowed, his pride bristling. “Do you have any idea who you’re speaking to?”

“Someone who clearly thinks too highly of himself,” you shot back.

The audacity of your words left him momentarily stunned, but instead of backing down, he stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. “If you think you can speak to me like this and get away with it—”

“Oh, spare me your arrogance,” you interrupted, turning on your heel and walking away.

Finn stood frozen, his sharp retort dying on his lips. For the first time, someone had not only challenged him but completely unsettled him. Yet all he could do was clench his fists, his pride wounded.

From that moment on, he became colder toward you, masking the strange pull he felt whenever you were near. He ignored the way his gaze lingered on you longer than it should, or how his chest tightened when you smiled at others. He dismissed it all as irritation.

It wasn’t until much later—when you had walked away, tired of his indifference—that he realized the truth. His heart had betrayed him long ago. It wasn’t anger or annoyance he felt when he saw you. It was love, buried deep beneath layers of pride.

And now, as he stood in the same field where you first met, alone with only the echo of your voice in his memory, Finn finally whispered the words he had been too proud to admit:

“She’s the one.”