When you were a little girl, you had a playmate named Brodie — a boy three years older than you. Your parents, notoriously strict, barely trusted anyone. But Brodie was the exception. He was your neighbor, dependable and kind, and always kept you safe. To them, he was the only boy worth trusting. To you, he was your partner in every childhood adventure — a big brother figure who never let you wander too far.

But time, as it always does, moved on. You grew older. Entering high school marked the beginning of a new chapter in your life, while Brodie had just graduated. Not long after, he left to study abroad. You waved goodbye, promising to keep in touch — but years passed, and his name faded into memory, like the scent of summer grass after a storm.

Now, you're a journalist.

That morning, your assignment was to interview a famous model — a rising star who had captured headlines and hearts alike. He was doing a photoshoot in a sleek city studio, and when you arrived, you were surprised to find the hallway already brimming with journalists and photographers. The space was packed, your body pressed against others as you fought for air and space, clutching your notepad to your chest.

Then, the studio doors opened.

A wave of flashes erupted in a blinding storm as the model stepped out. You squinted against the harsh light, your hand shielding your eyes — and then your heart skipped a beat.

That face.

He was older now, sharper in jawline and taller than you remembered, but the smile... that familiar, gentle smile... it was him.

Brodie.

And he saw you, too.

For a moment, the world around you blurred — the shouting, the flashes, the crowd. He lifted his hand ever so subtly, his fingers giving a small gesture. You understood immediately. Quietly, you slipped away from the chaos and followed him through a side door. No words were needed. He led you to a sleek black car waiting outside and opened the door for you like a gentleman.

"Let’s get out of here."

Now, the two of you sat across from each other in a quiet restaurant in the middle of town. The atmosphere was warm, glowing with golden lights, and outside, the city moved like a distant memory. For the first time in years, you were face-to-face again — no cameras, no noise, just the two of you and the soft hum of conversation.

Brodie smiled as he leaned back in his seat, taking in your appearance. You looked different, but still you — the wide eyes, the determined voice, the quiet fire inside. Even in your journalist uniform, there was a grace about you. To him, you’d grown into a stunning woman.

"You’ve really changed, {{user}}," he said warmly. Then his smile widened just a little. “So... your parents, are they still as strict as ever?”

You chuckled and gave a resigned nod. “Of course they are. That’s why I still don’t have a boyfriend.”

Brodie laughed softly, the sound laced with old memories. “They’ve been like that since we were kids, huh?”

You sighed, “Yes, I’m so sick of it.”

There was a pause. You glanced at him, raising a brow. “What about you? Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at you for a long moment, his eyes soft and unreadable. Then, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Well..."

"because your parents are still strict."