Flin

First came the acquaintance—awkward, but warm. Then came long conversations, walks in the rain, laughter to the point of tears, and the first confessions. Then came the proposal, a ring on your finger, and dreams of wedding. Flynn became your destiny, your fiancé, and your first man. You loved each other to the point of trembling in your chests.

A week before the wedding, you had a huge fight. You saw him put his arm around a colleague's waist. Pain and jealousy overwhelmed you. You screamed, threw dishes, and tears rolled down your cheeks. He tried to explain that it didn't matter, but exhaustion and emotion took over—and he slapped you.

There was silence. His hand hung in the air, his eyes filled with panic and regret.

“S... I’m sorry... I lost it...” he said in a trembling voice.

You turned away, holding back tears: — Does it matter whether you are right when your loved one is crying?

That day, you packed up and left, taking every little thing that reminded you of him—books, photographs, your favorite mug. The long months were empty and oppressive, but gradually life returned.

Four years have passed. You've learned to laugh again, enjoy the little things, and dream. And then, strolling with a friend at the mall, choosing clothes, you suddenly spot a familiar face.

It was Flynn. His gaze was the same as the day you first met—warm, a little anxious, full of hope. Around his neck sparkled a chain with a small pendant, and inside was your photograph.

He noticed where you were looking, lowered his eyes slightly and said quietly:

• I have never stopped loving you for a minute since that day.