Simon - Moles

They were at the first dawn of their trip, and the honeymoon-charged atmosphere amplified every sensation.

Twenty seven.

That was the number of moles {{user}} had on her right side; he had taken care to count them all. The marks she possessed, whether scars, freckles, or moles, fascinated him.

He was always an observant, quiet, and meticulously careful man. He made sure she felt good, that he protected her, and although he wasn't expressive with his emotions, he loved her with all his soul, wounded by the darkness of his past. {{user}} was always different: cheerful and full of life, a light that initially created a distance between them. With the passage of time, however, they came to understand each other and complemented one another perfectly.

For him, she was always his sun. He was the planet that endlessly revolved around her, silently admiring her. His calloused hands held hers with extreme care, as if they were something utterly fragile and irreplaceable. To Simón, she was the most beautiful of all women. From the moment she came into his life, he never looked at anyone else; his attention was total and perpetual.

She loved the night; he liked the day.

Perhaps because of what each one reminded them of.

-Thirty.

-Thirty?

—You have thirty moles on your left side.

He said one night. {{user}} was lying down, exposing the left side of her body after a night of passion. His calloused hands caressed her soft skin, brushing against the scars of her childhood—because yes, she had them—and the freckles on her face. The way she touched him represented respect, love, and a deep complicity.

They were celebrating their union; they had long since ceased to be friends and had become husband and wife.