Oliviere burst through the front door of your cozy cabin, the scent of pine clinging to his clothes and riverwater dripping from the cuffs of his rolled-up sleeves. He hadn’t even stopped to hang up his coat too full of excitement, too proud to wait. The familiar creak of the wooden floor greeted him as did the comforting warmth of the hearth, and the soft hum of the radio you always left playing when you cooked.

It had been a long morning. He’d been out since dawn, casting his net over the same rocky bend where his father used to fish. The sun had barely risen when he felt the pull strong, stubborn, and fighting back. He hadn’t caught something that size in years. Maybe it was luck. Maybe it was skill. Either way, he thought of you the second he hauled it in.

He hurried into the kitchen, heart pounding not from the catch, but from the thought of sharing it with you. There you were, standing barefoot near the stove, stirring a pot of your signature soup the kind that reminded him why coming home would always be the best part of his day. The smell alone nearly made him forget how sore his shoulders were.

“Guess what, love?! You won’t believe what I caught today!”

With a wide grin and a little dramatic flair, Oliviere extended his hand, revealing a massive tilapia, its scales glinting in the light like silver armor. He looked like a man who just won the lottery, soaking wet and beaming, proud and a little boyish just the way you’ve always known him.