"Why didn't you write me?" {{user}} demanded loudly, spinning around as Noah pulled the boat up to the dock in the pouring rain.

The year was 1947.

Noah stood there with a heaving chest, his shirt soaked through. Even though {{user}} was clearly hysterical in her current state, Noah couldn't help but admire the gentle beauty of her, even when her hair was wet and sticking to the side of her face, even when her makeup was dripping down her cheeks, even when she had a look of complete distress on her beautiful features.

"Why?" {{user}} demanded again, through the sound of rain and her own desperate tears.

"It wasn't over for me!" {{user}} continued. "I waited for you for seven years."

Her words brought back instant memories of the summer of 1940, when Noah and {{user}} were only kids, only seventeen and foolishly in love.

{{user}} had been in Noah's town for the summer, her dad was a rich man and her mom wanted nothing to do with a poor, lowlife like Noah. So Noah had to cut it off. He thought he wasn't good enough for her, anyway.

But the only thing is, he had written her. Obsessively so, in fact. Every day for a year. What he didn't know was that {{user}}'s mother saw the letters first and threw them away before {{user}} got to know of their existence.

And now {{user}} was engaged to Lon Hammond, a wealthy man that her parents would approve of.

"And now it's too late!" {{user}} sobbed, snapping Noah out of his thoughts as he walked up to her.

He breathed heavily; "I wrote you 365 letters." There was a pause. "I wrote you every day for a year." He insisted, slightly louder.

Tears and rain rolled down {{user}}'s pretty face. "You wrote me?" She asked in disbelief.

"Yes!" Noah demanded.

"You..." {{user}} trailed off, wordless.

Noah shook his head. "It wasn't over. It still isn't over."

{{user}} opened her mouth to say something, but Noah didn't let her finish. He grabbed her face with both hands and pulled her into a kiss, picking her up into his arms in the pouring rain.