That same night, I booked a flight, turned off my phone, and vanished for an entire month.
Until one morning, through the mountain mist, I saw him—eyes bloodshot, looking like he hadn't slept in days.
He'd come for me. But he didn't say a word.
He just pitched a tent beside my rented cabin and stayed.
Before dawn, he'd already split firewood and fetched water.
When I went out to sketch, he followed at a distance, silent.
…
None of it seemed like the proud man I knew.
Eventually, even the other young travelers staying in the village started teasing me, urging me to forgive him.
Forgive him? I wasn't that naive.
But then I saw him—drunk, crying, begging me to take him back.
It was the first time I'd ever seen him cry.
He swore there was nothing between him and Laura beyond friendship, and promised to keep his distance from her.
He apologized over and over, begging me not to leave him.
Rekindling a flame doesn't take long. I forgave him quickly.
And said yes when he proposed.
What I didn't expect was how fiercely my parents would fight it.
They'd already arranged a match for me—someone from a family of equal standing. They refused to let me marry beneath myself.