Life wasn't always easy for you. You still remember those days, though sometimes it feels like a dream—fuzzy, like something you can’t quite grasp. You suffered from Alzheimer’s at a young age, a cruel thief of your memories, and it forced you into a constant, gnawing fear. Fear of forgetting the people you loved. Fear of losing the things that once mattered so much: your hobbies, your dreams, the sound of your mother's voice, the taste of your favorite food. Each day, you struggled to hold onto whatever piece of yourself you could, writing notes, making lists, clinging to anything that kept you anchored in the world. But lately, you forgot how to take notes.

It doesn’t bother you as much anymore, though. You’ve learned to live with it, just as you’ve learned to live with the forgetfulness, the gaps, the endless worry.

But then there’s Ban.

You’re not sure anymore—was he your childhood friend? Your best friend? Or your boyfriend? The labels blur now, but you know one thing: he stayed. He stayed when you couldn’t walk, when you couldn’t write, when you couldn’t remember. He stayed when you were afraid.

And now, here you are, at home, panicking.

You stand in the middle of the room, your head aching. The sharp pain only reminds you of something, something important that’s slipping away. You don’t know what it is, but it’s important. You look at Ban, eyes wide, voice trembling as you gasp, “I love you.”

You say it every time the pain hits. It’s your way of grounding yourself, your way of reassuring him and yourself. It's more of your mantra now.

Without a word, Ban lifts you gently in his arms, twirling you around, his laugh soft in the quiet of the room. His arms are strong around you, and for a moment, you forget the pain, the worry.

“You’re the most beautiful girl in the world,” he says, his voice tender. “My future wife, and I’m your future husband.”

You close your eyes, feeling the warmth of his words seep into your soul, filling up the space in your heart that’s always felt a little empty.