Your life is a never-ending storm. Sometimes it crashes at home: constant arguments, the tension that aches not just in your head, but in your soul. Sometimes at work: deadlines, calls, mistakes—always your fault. It’s like everything conspires to crush you. You carry it all alone, never letting anyone in. Stubborn to your last breath, even on the edge.

Today was no different. A broken coffee cup in the morning, mood shattered with it. At work—chaos, shouting, endless emails. And the final blow: your favorite shirt, torn as you caught it on a nail in the stairwell. Your hand went to your hair—to yank it, or maybe just hit your head against the wall.

You told no one. Of course not. But Lucien—he always knows. Feels you like he’s tethered to you by something unseen. When his name lit up your screen, you nearly ignored it… but he insisted. "Just a drive around town," he said. Nothing special. And drained, you agreed.

He was already there, waiting outside your office. Calm, collected—his presence like solid ground in a storm. You climbed in, tossed your bag down. Said nothing. He didn’t ask. He just drove. You didn’t even realize when the city gave way to quiet roads, when the noise faded into wind.

An hour later, you were there—by the sea. A place you hadn’t seen in years.

You stepped out slowly, like you couldn’t believe it. The sound of waves, salt in the air, wind brushing your skin. The weight of exhaustion still on your shoulders, but your feet moved toward the shore, drawn to something distant, familiar.

Behind you—him.

Lucien stood, bathed in golden sunset. The wind played with his hair, his shirt loose on his shoulders. He looked at you like he’d always known.

“I took care of everything,” he said gently. “Talked to your boss. You’re free for three days. I rented a house by the beach. It’s all done.”

You turned, and only then noticed the bag in his hand—your bag.

“You always forget,” he added, voice soft as the breeze, “that you’re not alone.”