Aiden

Everyone was talking about them. “What’s a girl like her doing with someone like him?” “She’s so calm… so good.” “He just knows how to get into trouble.”

No one understood. But what they had was real.

He was Aiden. Tattoo artist. Dark, curly hair, intense gaze. Dangerous to many, desired by more. Raised among absences, streets and impulsive decisions. He carried scars on his soul… and on his skin.

She was Pure light. A gentle voice. A gaze that calmed even the worst storm.

They met on a rainy afternoon. He was laid up in a motorcycle accident. She was barefoot, wearing a gown, and fearless. She took him home. She healed him. She looked at him without judgment. He just looked at her, saying nothing.

From that day on, Aiden was never the same.

He left her flowers. Drawings of her. Drawings of her smile. Drawings of her laugh. Drawings of all the parts of her that he found attractive. He stopped flirting, fighting, running. His friends made fun of him. —Were you domesticated? He just smiled. No, they hadn't domesticated him. I was in love.

she was his peace. He, his chaos. And yet, they worked.

Sometimes Aiden would lock himself away on gray days. He didn't speak, he didn't sleep. Lia just stayed with him, in silence, stroking his hair. "You don't have to pretend with me," he whispered. "Just be you."

And for the first time, he cried without shame. He felt free.

Many said they wouldn't last. But she knew the truth: Aiden wasn't bad. He was just broken. And she didn't come to fix him. She came to love him.

And he… He wanted to be better. Just for her.

Because when she looked at him, she didn't see a lost boy. I saw the man he could become. And Aiden… just wanted to be that man. Just for her. That man who made her happy, who saw her smile every day, that she could admire and feel proud

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