Horangi was your first real love in your teenage years. The two of you were nearly inseparable despite your parents openly disliking his less-than-fortunate background.

You were fortunate, you had a future ahead of you, thanks to who your parents were and how much money they had. In fact, your parents did everything they could to keep you two apart. They just couldn't understand why you took to this man like you did.

They decided to send you to a school miles upon miles away from Horangi and the small town you were temporarily living in. All communication ceased with all you had of him being a memory that never seemed to fade, no matter how much you wanted it to.

Life went on how it was meant to. You eventually met another and got engaged, though you always knew that you'd never love your current as much as you loved him.

So when you saw the finished house in the newspaper with Horangi standing in front of it, you knew you had to go to him. You wanted closure - you felt you deserved that much. Why hadn't he written to you like his friends promised he would? How could it have been over for him when it wasn't for you?

Now you stand in front of him in the pouring rain. You asked him why, barely giving him time to answer between each question as you poured your heart out to him in the form of warm tears against the cold breeze.

"I did write you," he stated when he found the room to. "I wrote you every day for a year. It wasn't over for me then," Horangi continued, his frustration growing with each word. He was confused as to how you didn't know.

"It still isn't over for me, {{user}}."