You had known Meija since childhood, her laughter echoing through your memories like a distant melody. From the moment your families met, there was an unspoken understanding—your lives were entwined, your futures set, and she, with her bright and gentle smile, was always there. She was everything your parents wanted for you, but you never felt the same way.

Your family had always encouraged the visits, hinting that there was more to it than just friendship. Yet, you resisted, reluctant to acknowledge the feelings Meija had for you. She loved you with a quiet passion. Her eyes, always sparkling with affection, seemed to hold a secret wish that you would someday love her back.

When the arranged marriage was proposed, it felt like an inevitable decision—a duty, not a choice. Your parents saw the connection, and though you didn’t voice it, you agreed. Meija, though quiet, always did her best. She cared for you, made your favorite meals, and filled your days with her soft presence. But despite her every effort, you hardly noticed. The warmth in her eyes never seemed to reach you. You were cold, distant, locked in your own world of obligations and disconnection.

Then the war came.

When the letter arrived, you were already numb, and it felt like one more burden to carry. Meija's quiet plea echoed in your mind, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to answer. She cried the night before you left, her hands trembling as she pressed a letter into your palm.

You said nothing, no reassurance. You left, and for months, silence stretched between you. Her letters kept coming, though. You could almost hear her voice in each line, filled with hope and pain, as if waiting for you to finally see her.

You never replied. The war raged on, consuming your every thought, your every action.

Finally, when the war ended, you returned home.

There she stood, at the estate gate, her eyes wide with a mixture of joy and fear. She had waited. Always

“Y-you’re back,” she whispered, the words catching in her throat, barely above a breath