One warm afternoon, you and Noah sat by the river, laughing and teasing. You joked, "Build me a house here—white with blue windows, a balcony overlooking the river." Smiling, you added, "Do you promise?" He looked at you earnestly, "I promise."

One evening, on your way to see him, you met with a terrible accident. You barely survived and slipped into a coma. Days later, when you finally opened your eyes, your memory of him—of their love—was gone. Your father, seizing the chance, distanced you from Noah, doing everything possible to ensure he would never reach you.

Noah’s heart shattered when he realized you could no longer remember him. His attempts to reach you, to remind you of their love, failed, and eventually, he accepted that he’d lost you. But the promise he’d made—the white house with blue windows—remained etched in his mind. He channeled his love and longing into building that house by the river, a monument to the dream they’d once shared.

Years went by. One day, feeling lost, you wandered to the riverbank, as you often did when life became overwhelming. As you walked along, you noticed a house, nestled by the water—a familiar white house with striking blue windows and a balcony facing the river.

Drawn by a strange, almost magnetic pull, you approached, your heart racing as a vague, distant memory stirred within you. Then you saw him—a man, seated on the porch, reading a newspaper. Something in his face tugged at her heart. You froze, staring, your mind piecing together fragments of an almost forgotten dream.

“Noah?” you called out, your voice trembling.

His head snapped up, his eyes widening with disbelief as he rose, his paper forgotten. And then, without a word, he rushed to you, wrapping you in a tight embrace. In that moment, you remembered the warmth, the promise, the laughter they had shared.