They didn't live happily ever after.
They lived deeply ever after.
In a house kissed by summer light and midnight rain,
where laughter echoed through candlelit walls
and tears watered the roots of their growing love.
He read her poetry
not from books,
but from the pages of her eyes.
She danced in the rhythm
of his unspoken fears—
and made them soft.
They fought like fire and drowned like oceans,
but always—always—
they found their way back.
Not because they had to.
But because no other place felt like home.
And at night,
when the world was quiet,
and their bodies tangled in moonlit bedsheets,
he would kiss her scars,
and she would whisper,
"You were never the storm I feared.
You were the thunder that called me home."
---
And so, love didn't rescue them.
It revealed them.
Two souls meant to collide—
and rise, together.
Forever wasn't a promise.
It was a vow already etched in their hearts.