They were too young to understand why love needed permission, only old enough to know that they could not live without each other.

When their families turned their backs, they chose each other instead. One quiet night, with trembling hands and hearts full of hope, they ran far away to a place where no one knew their names or their past. The city they reached was unfamiliar and unforgiving, but it was theirs.

Money was scarce. They rented a small, worn-down house at a price they could barely afford. The walls were thin, the rooms almost empty, yet every corner slowly filled with their laughter. He found a modest job at a small clock shop, spending his days repairing broken timepieces, counting minutes that all led back to her. She chose to stay home, turning that fragile house into a shelter of warmth, waiting for him every evening like it was the most important moment of the day.

Life was hard. There were nights when meals were simple and worries were many. But they shared everything—every struggle, every fear, every dream whispered in the dark. Poverty never touched their hearts, because love was always enough.

In a world that had rejected them, they built their own. And despite having so little, they were richer than most—because they had each other, and that made them the happiest they had ever been.