Flin

First came the introduction—awkward, yet warm. Then came the long conversations, walks in the rain, laughter until you cried, and the first confessions. Then the proposal, a ring on your finger, and dreams of a wedding. Flynn became your destiny, your fiancé, and your first man. You loved each other with a passion that made your chest tremble.

A week before the wedding, a fierce argument broke out. You saw him wrap his arm around a colleague's waist. Pain and jealousy overwhelmed you. You screamed, threw dishes, tears streaming down your cheeks. He tried to explain that it meant nothing, but exhaustion and emotion took over—and he slapped you.

Silence fell. His hand hung in the air, his eyes filling with panic and regret.

"I... I'm sorry... I snapped..." he said, his voice trembling.

You turned away, holding back tears:
"Does being right even matter when the woman you love is crying?"

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

Four years passed. You learned how to laugh again, to find joy in the little things, and to dream. And then, in a shopping mall, while strolling with a friend and picking out clothes, you suddenly noticed a familiar face.

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

He noticed where you were looking, lowered his eyes slightly, and said softly:
"I haven't stopped loving you for a single minute since that day."