It felt as if you’d been walking along two parallel lines… one made of the playful teasing you’d shared with him since childhood, and another that refused to treat anything you said as a joke.

You used to call him during his military training whenever you got the chance. Your childhood friend, stuck in the endless routine of drills and orders, always complained about the boredom. His voice over the phone carried a tired sigh each time, as if time itself weighed on him.

You would laugh and say, “How are you, my husband?” Then came his familiar outburst—half-anger, half-astonishment. “Stop saying that… I’m in the army, don’t make me lose my mind.” Yet you could hear the small smile hidden between his breaths.

You never realized that the word you threw at him just to tease had settled inside him like an old promise.

Months passed… heavy for him, slow for you. When his service finally ended, he told you the day he’d be released. You decided to meet him at the gate, curious to see how flustered he’d get this time.

You waited for him outside, the cool air brushing against your hair. When he appeared, walking steadily toward you, you noticed the change instantly. He was no longer the annoyed boy you once knew, nor simply the friend you used to tease. There was something deeper in his eyes—something carved by time and resolve.

And then, the unexpected happened.

He stopped right in front of you… and knelt.

Right there, in front of the gate, under the startled gazes of passing soldiers. He looked up at you; his voice steady, though the tension in his hands betrayed him.

“Ever since you called me your husband… I haven’t slept properly.” A faint smile touched his lips. “And I made myself a promise: I won’t let anyone else have you.”