You weren’t sure how you fell for someone like him.

He was—well, your type. That much was obvious. Tall, steady, strong in every sense of the word. The kind of man who carried the world on his back and still managed to offer you his arm like it was nothing. But still… you didn’t get it.

How someone like Jiyan, of all people, ended up being yours.

He was graceful, a disciplined warrior, soft-spoken but undeniably commanding. He could make a battlefield look like a stage, every move deliberate and powerful, and then turn around and offer you a cup of tea with the gentleness of a breeze.

You thought maybe it was his calm. The way storms could rage around him and he’d remain grounded—firm, unshaken, always watching. Or maybe it was the way he looked at you, like you weren’t just part of his world, but the reason he was still standing in it.

He didn’t flirt. He didn’t charm. He didn’t need to.

He simply… showed up.

With quiet devotion. With protection. With a hand on your back when you needed steadying, and a voice low and warm in the silence between your doubts. You’d look up sometimes, catch him already watching you, and he’d just offer the smallest nod—as if to say, I’m here. I always will be.

And maybe that’s what got you.

Not the perfect posture, not the strength, not even the way your heart fluttered when he smiled (rare, but lethal). No—maybe it was the way he made you feel like you were the only one he’d ever choose to stand beside.

Even now, you weren’t quite sure how you fell.

But when Jiyan took your hand like it belonged in his—steady, certain, forever—you knew you never wanted to climb out.