Prolouge
Some people enter your life like a season.
Soft. Temporary. Expected to leave.
And then there are those who arrive like a question you spend years trying to answer.
He was that question for me.
I don’t remember the exact moment we became us. There was no announcement, no confession that changed everything all at once. Just a thousand small things — shared silences that lasted too long to be casual, glances that carried words we never spoke aloud, and a strange comfort that felt older than our first meeting.
If someone asked me when I started loving him, I wouldn’t know what to say.
Maybe it was the day he remembered something about me I had forgotten telling him.
Or the evening he stood beside me without asking what was wrong, as if he already knew.
Or maybe it was much earlier.
Maybe it was always there.
Love like ours doesn’t begin in one moment. It grows quietly, like roots under soil you don’t realize is shifting beneath your feet.
And by the time you notice — you’re already standing inside it.
I didn’t know then what we would become.
I didn’t know love could feel like a home you never stop returning to, even after you no longer live there.
All I knew was this:
Some people change your life.
And some people become its shape.
He became mine.
Even after we became strangers again.
