It started with stolen glances and silent prayers. Back then, love was just a secret tucked behind shy smiles and the flutter of a young heart. She was fifteen, he was sixteen—neighbors turned friends, and friends who dared not speak the truth buried beneath every moment they shared.
Alina had always admired Elian from a distance too close to ignore. He was kind, patient, and wore a quiet strength that made her feel safe without saying a word. He often helped her father with repairs around the house, and in between hammering nails and passing tools, he'd smile at her like she was the softest part of his day.
But they were young, and their world was small. The kind of love they had—unspoken, uncertain—wasn't the kind that bloomed freely. It was the kind that waited. And waited.
Until one day, he was gone. Sent away to study, to grow, to become the man his family needed him to be. And Alina? She stayed, her heart quietly growing older with the years, but never quite moving on.
She watched other girls fall in love and get chosen. She wondered what it felt like to be picked first, not kept as a beautiful memory. Elian never wrote, but he never had to. His silence still said everything.
Then came the news.
A marriage was to take place—hers. Arranged by families for the sake of legacy, of names, of tradition. She braced herself for another stranger, another name she'd have to learn to live with.
But fate had a different plan.
Elian came home.
And this time, he was the groom.
Not for love.
For duty.
And suddenly, the boy she once dreamed of was standing at her doorstep—not as her first love, but as her almost everything.
At the altar, Alina looked into his eyes and searched for the boy she once knew. What she found instead was a storm—quiet, conflicted, resigned. There was a part of him that still looked at her like she was his, but it was buried beneath layers of responsibility and expectations he never chose.
She wanted to ask him if he was okay, if he wanted this. But the truth was already there, shimmering behind the way he avoided her gaze when the priest asked if he would take her hand. She saw hesitation—not in marrying her, but in the way he was forced to.
In his eyes, she saw everything he couldn't say: the longing for what could've been, the sorrow of a love delayed too long, and the silent acceptance of a fate written by others.
Alina blinked away the burn in her chest and smiled gently, because even if this wasn't the love story they dreamed of, it was still a beginning.
Almost love.
Almost theirs.
Almost forever.