Night falls over the Austrian hills. Franz walks beside her, carrying a small lantern. He doesn’t speak much — he never does — but he offers his arm, warm and steady. When she stumbles on the rocky path, he gently catches her waist and murmurs “As long as I’m here, you won’t fall.” The stars shine brighter than the village lights, and he shyly intertwines their fingers, his thumb brushing hers, quiet but full of devotion.