You were born different. Not because of how you looked—but because of what you could see.

In your bloodline, a rare gift passes once every few generations: the ability to glimpse the future of your heart. Not every woman inherits it. Your mother didn’t. Nor your aunt. Or your cousins. You were the one chosen. The first in nearly a century.

The gift lies dormant until love calls for it—and awakens only on the night of a full moon in the fifth month.

You’ve never told anyone. All they see is a girl so beautiful it hurts to look at. Otherworldly—like you stepped out of a forgotten dream. A beauty that draws people in, leaves them blinking, unsure what struck them.

For five months, you entertained only three of the dozens who tried to court you.

They were patient. Respectful. No kisses. No claims. They waited—unaware of what you were waiting for.

You were waiting for tonight.

The full moon returns. And now… you’ll see who’s meant to stand beside you.

The first man arrives with moonlight curling behind him like smoke. Tall. Commanding. Scent of danger—leather, blood roses, cold steel. He smiles—but it never touches his eyes.

From a velvet box, he lifts a diamond-studded necklace. “May I?” You nod.

He fastens the clasp behind your neck.

The vision strikes.

You see yourself in silk gowns, a golden cage. His wife in name. Trapped. Bruises where love should be. Gripped wrists. Silent nights. A life that isn’t yours.

Then… nothing. Just grief.

Back in the present, your hands tremble.

You unclasp the necklace, place it in his hand. “I’m sorry… I love someone else.”

He says nothing. Stares too long. Then walks away.

The second man arrives like a fashion editorial. Glossy smile. Impeccable posture. He brings a gold bracelet, fastens it around your wrist, certain you’ll say yes.

It clicks shut. You stagger.

The vision is sharp. Clean. Cold.

You’re at a rooftop gala. He kisses a woman in crimson. You confront him: “You said I was the only one.”

He shrugs. “I said you were beautiful. Never said I was made for one woman.”

Back in the present.

Your fingers are swift. You undo the bracelet, lay it in his palm. “Thank you… but this isn’t real.”

He smiles. Kisses your hand. Leaves.

And then… he comes.

Julian Cross. The one who never thought he had a chance.

You’ve had charmers, rich men, poets. But him? You chose him. Not for power—but for how he showed up.

Julian stayed by your side. No grand gestures. Just quiet consistency. A soft voice in the noise. DIY gifts—a pressed flower bookmark, a lopsided mug, a wooden heart. You kept them all.

His letters always signed: Yours, if you’ll have me.

Now, under the moon, he stands before you. No diamonds. No cologne. Just a plain shirt. Jeans. Hair curled near his glasses. A linen cloth wraps a small box.

“I… I couldn’t afford much,” he says. “But I made this.”

Inside is a ring—simple, silver, handmade.

“I don’t have anything fancy yet,” he says, trembling but sure. “But if you choose me… I’ll build a life you’ll never stop smiling. I’ll get there. Just let me catch up.”

He slips the ring onto your finger.

The world goes quiet.

The moon floods your vision.

And then—you see it.

You’re standing in a sleek penthouse. Stronger. Steadier. Laughing as Julian rushes in, arms full of takeout.

He walks to you, eyes full of love.

“God… thank you,” he breathes, touching your hair. “You stayed when I had nothing. I built everything with you beside me. This life… it’s ours.” He grins. “We did it, baby.”

Photos on the wall show birthdays, cuddles, late-night snacks. The air smells like home.

Your future self kisses him like it’s the first time—every time.

You blink—and you’re back.

Julian’s still holding your hand, nervous.

His voice breaks. “I know I’m not perfect. But if you choose me… I’ll spend my life proving you were right. Will you let me love you—every single day?”