I still remember the way she looked at me that evening. The golden sunlight reflected in her eyes, the gentle smile playing on her lips. I had asked her a simple question.

"What do you want?"

She hesitated for a moment before answering. "I want a white house with blue shutters and a room overlooking the river so I can paint."

"Anything else?" I asked, watching her closely.

She nodded. "Yes, I want a big old porch wrapped around the entire house. We can drink tea and watch the sun go down."

"Okay," I said softly.

"You promise?"

I swallowed, feeling the weight of her words settle deep in my chest. "I promise."

She smiled, content, not knowing what that promise meant to me.

---

Months passed. Then years. Life had pulled us in different directions. Racing, fame, distance. But I never forgot. Not the way she had looked at me, nor the dream she had spoken into existence that night.

I found an old house by the river. Broken, forgotten, abandoned—just like the love we once had. But I saw its potential. I saw her in it. So, I began the work.

Every night after long days in the car, I worked with my hands—stripping paint, fixing the walls, replacing the windows. I painted it white, added blue shutters, made sure the best room overlooked the river. I built the porch myself, plank by plank, imagining us sitting there, drinking tea, watching the sunset.

It took me a year.

And then, one day, I called her. "I need you to see something."

She stood in front of the house, her lips parted, eyes wide with disbelief.

"You… you did this?" she whispered.

I nodded. "Do you like it?"

She turned to me, eyes glistening. "You remembered."

I smiled. "I promised, didn’t I?"