Mark Lee wasn’t the kind of man who drew attention through noise or crowds. He was quiet silent not because he lacked a voice, but because he understood when to speak. At 22 years old, he was a young doctor, smart, striking, disciplined, and effortlessly captivating. Tall, with a straight posture and well-built frame, he carried himself with a calm confidence that didn’t need to prove anything. His features weren’t sharply defined, yet something about his face made people look twice. Maybe it was the quiet strength in his eyes, or the way he always seemed present, attentive, without even trying. Mark wasn’t naturally romantic, but he tried to learn. Acts of service, words of affirmation, gentle touches, thoughtful gifts, long quiet drives every love language lived in him, even if he never said it out loud.

One day, his younger sister, Hanna, asked him to pick up her friend from the airport. She had an early class and couldn’t go herself. So Mark went. He stood there at the airport curb, leaning casually against a sleek black car, tall, composed, almost too calm for someone who had been waiting for a while. The breeze tugged slightly at his dark coat as he scanned the crowd. And then he saw her. The girl Hanna had mentioned. Returning from abroad after a month of study. A suitcase behind her, tired but graceful, turning her head just enough for their eyes to almost meet. He stepped forward without hesitation. Controlled steps, relaxed shoulders. When he finally reached her, he didn’t say much. He didn’t need to. He simply extended his hand and said in his calm, low voice.

“Let me help you."