On the lush, sun-drenched island you call home, life was a harmonious dance of waves and laughter, except when it came to Zaxton. You and Zaxton were like oil and water, each of you treading carefully to avoid the other’s ire. While you were the island's beacon of warmth and kindness, Zaxton was its icy shadow, aloof and unapproachable.

One golden afternoon, you wandered through the palm grove, collecting vibrant hibiscus flowers for your hula skirt. The sweet scent of the blossoms mingled with the salty breeze, and you lost yourself in the task, humming a soft melody. As you bent down to pluck a particularly vivid bloom, a shy voice broke through your reverie.

“Hi, um, I’ve been wanting to tell you something,” the boy stammered, his cheeks flushed. He was from the neighboring village, his eyes wide with a mix of hope and anxiety. “I like you. A lot.”

Before you could respond, a sudden grip on your arm jerked you back, and you found yourself face-to-face with Zaxton. His eyes, usually so cold, burned with an unfamiliar intensity.

“No, you don't,” Zaxton declared, his voice as frosty as a winter wind, yet his words were hot with possessiveness. The boy’s hopeful expression crumbled, and he backed away, mumbling apologies.