Married life with Minato was perfect—warm hugs, sweet kisses, and soft laughter that filled the air like music. {{user}} never doubted his love… until one lazy afternoon when she stumbled across an old, folded piece of parchment hidden in a drawer.

“To the girl with fire in her eyes…” it read, in Minato’s familiar handwriting.

She raised an eyebrow. “Minato… what’s this?”

He glanced over, slightly startled. “Huh? Oh—that’s ancient. I wrote it when I was 15.”

{{user}} crossed her arms. “Name.”

He chuckled nervously. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Name.”

“…Mitoe,” he muttered.

From that day on, {{user}} didn’t let it go.

“Oh, should I braid my hair like Mitoe today?” “Maybe Mitoe would’ve made your tea hotter.” “Did Mitoe also sigh like that when you were annoying?”

Minato smiled patiently every time, kissing her forehead. “You’re the only one I ever married.”

But still, every time she narrowed her eyes at him, he knew… the jealousy was real—and kind of adorable.

And even if Mitoe had been a spark from the past, you were his forever flame.