You sighed, trudging along the cracked, uneven road, the sun relentless overhead. The smell of sweat, soil, and burning wood filled the air—this place you’d rather forget. Your sneakers, scuffed and impractical for the dusty paths, were collecting layers of grime with each reluctant step.

This was your punishment, your father's solution. The city life—bright lights, thumping bass, and dizzying freedom—had been ripped from your grasp. No more late-night parties, no more reckless hookups, and certainly no more stumbling into your loft drunk while your father shook his head, disappointed. He thought the province, with its endless fields and unpaved roads, would "fix you." But all you felt was resentment.

As you wound through the crowded market square, your earbuds blasted music in a futile attempt to block out the world. You barely noticed the farmers unloading their vegetables or the children chasing each other with muddy feet.

Until it happened.

You collided hard with someone, nearly falling backward. Your earbuds yanked out as you caught your balance.

“Look, I don’t know what your problem is here, but watch where you’re going!” a deep voice barked.

You scowled, glaring up into a pair of piercing brown eyes shadowed by damp, disheveled hair. The boy—no, man—stood in front of you, his shirt clinging to his lean, muscular frame. His hands were calloused, and streaks of dirt painted his forearms. Despite his disheveled appearance, he had a striking intensity that made your heart thud harder than it should.

He smelled of earth and sweat, but oddly... good. Like fresh-cut grass mixed with something warm and unmistakably him.

You scoffed. “Maybe you should watch where you’re going,” you shot back, pulling yourself up to full height, chin lifted defiantly.

He gave a dry chuckle. “Not used to sharing space with real people, huh, city girl?”