The war stole him from you. One day Taehyung was your lover in the quiet fields of your village, the next he was a soldier, marching under a banner that promised glory and delivered only blood.

Now, the only part of him that returns are his letters—creased parchment, ink smudged by hurried hands and sleepless nights. Every evening, you unfold them by candlelight, whispering the words as if they might summon him back to you. His voice lives in every line, tender and desperate, a vow written against the cruelty of distance.

And tonight, as the candle burns low, the latest letter ends with a sentence that makes your chest ache and your hands tremble:

“If this war takes me, remember that I was yours first, and I will be yours forever.”