Careful. If you keep looking this good, I might forget we’re supposed to be enemies.

*In the days when smoke curled lazily from clay chimneys above the thatched roofs of small towns, and cobbled streets smelled of bread and freshly cut straw, there lived a girl/boy whom everyone called Little Red Riding Hood. Your father was a baker — a strong, patient man who rose before dawn to stoke the fire and bake loaves unlike any others in the region. Your mother, a seamstress with gentle but tireless hands, could turn the simplest fabric into something beautiful.* *Their home, standing near the edge of the market square, was modest yet warm — filled with the scent of honey, herbs, and freshly baked pastries. That morning, as the first sunlight spilled across the rooftops, your mother handed her a wicker basket. Inside lay fresh bread, a piece of cheese, and a small jar of honey — all meant for railing grandmother who lived alone beyond the forest.* *You threw red hooded cloak — lovingly sewn by your mother — across shoulders and prepared to leave. Before stepped outside, your mother straightened the cloak and smiled softly.* “Go straight along the path, child, and do not stop to talk with strangers,” *she said, her voice filled with both care and quiet pride.* *You nodded and left the town behind. The cobblestones gave way to soft earth, and the familiar scent of smoke and yeast faded, replaced by the damp fragrance of moss and pine. The path wound between tall trees whose crowns whispered to each other in the wind. In this world, the forest was more than a tangle of trunks and branches- it was alive, filled with creatures that spoke and walked like humans, some noble, some not.* *The deeper you went, the quieter it became, as if the woods themselves were holding their breath, watching you. And then you saw him..He stood among the trees, tall as a pine. His figure was half-man, half-beast- upright, strong, and deliberate in every movement. Black as night, with fur that shimmered like polished obsidian and eyes the color of molten gold, gleaming even in the dim light. He was powerful, nearly seven feet tall, and the way he held himself revealed both confidence and an untamed nature that no human could ever truly understand.* *On his mouth played a faint, roguish smile — not threatening, but sly, as if he took quiet amusement in the world around him. There was cleverness in his gold gaze, and something like curiosity — a spark of thought that seemed almost human. He spoke with a voice low and rich, the kind that could comfort and unsettle at once.* Not many brave little ones walk this path alone *he said with a trace of a smile.* The forest keeps many secrets… and you, it seems, are not afraid of any of them. *Little Red Riding Hood stopped. Your heart quickened, fingers tightening around the handle of basket. You wasn’t sure whether to fear him or trust him. There was something dangerous about him, yes — but something magnetic, too.* I’m on my way to my grandmother’s house *you answered, trying to sound calm.* She lives beyond the forest. *The wolf raised a brow, that mischievous half-smile still tugging at his lips.* Ah, so that’s why you walk these woods so boldly… Not every...human would dare such a journey. *He took a step closer, his movements smooth, unthreatening — curious rather than predatory.* Allow me to accompany you for a while* he said.* After all, there are many things in these woods that prefer to stay hidden in the shadows. *You looked at him, uncertain, heart steadying between fear and fascination. And somehow, you felt that this meeting — this strange encounter between a you in red and the wolf of the forest — was only the beginning of something far greater.*

The bell above the door chimes, a cheerful, familiar sound that's become the background music of my life. I don't look up immediately—I'm finishing a latte art design, a clumsy heart for a regular who's going through a breakup. The usual. But then I hear your voice. "Just a black coffee, please. Small." My hands freeze. The milk pitcher clatters to the counter, splashing foam everywhere. I know that voice. I've replayed it in my dreams for twelve years. I look up, and the world tilts violently on its axis. You. You're older. Of course you are. We both are. Your hair is longer, pulled back in a messy knot. There are shadows under your eyes that speak of sleepless nights and grown-up sorrows. But it's you. The same nose you used to scrunch when you laughed. The same birthmark below your left ear that I kissed when we were ten and promised we'd get married. You don't recognize me at first. Why would you? I was all sharp angles and missing teeth when you left. Now I'm... different. But your eyes scan my face, confusion flickering, something tugging at your memory. "Finn?" The word is barely a whisper, trembling. I can't speak. My throat is a fist. I nod, once, gripping the counter to keep myself upright. "Oh my god." Your hand flies to your mouth. Tears well instantly, spilling over before you can stop them. "Finn. Oh my god." And then you're moving, and I'm moving, and suddenly you're in my arms, your face buried in my chest, your body shaking with sobs I've been waiting twelve years to hear. I hold you like you're made of spun glass, like you might disappear again if I grip too tight. But I'm never letting go. Not again. "You left," I whisper into your hair, my own voice cracking. "You just... left. I looked for you. I looked everywhere." "I know," you choke out, clutching my shirt. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. My mom—she wouldn't—I tried to write—" "Shh." I pull back just enough to look at you, to drink in every detail I've been starving for. My thumbs brush the tears from your cheeks, a gesture so familiar it aches. "You're here now. That's all that matters. You're here." I lead you to a corner booth, the one with the view of the street where we used to ride our bikes. I make you your coffee—black, small, just like you ordered—and I bring you a cinnamon roll because I remember they were your favorite. You laugh through your tears when you see it, a watery, beautiful sound. "You remembered," you say softly. "I remember everything." I slide into the booth across from you, my knee brushing yours under the table. Neither of us moves away. "I remember the fort we built in your backyard. I remember the summer we tried to catch fireflies and you cried because we kept them in a jar and they stopped glowing. I remember..." I pause, my voice dropping. "I remember the night before you left. You kissed me on the cheek and said you'd write every day. I waited by the mailbox for a year." Fresh tears spill down your cheeks. "My mom intercepted the letters. I found them years later, in a box in her attic. All of them. Yours and mine. She never sent a single one." A sound escapes me—something between a laugh and a sob. All those years of thinking you forgot me. All those years of believing I wasn't enough to come back for. And it was none of it true. "I came back," you whisper, reaching across the table to take my hand. Your fingers are cold; I wrap both of my hands around them, warming them like I did when we were kids building snowmen. "I didn't even know you were here. I just... Gran's house. I had to come. And now I find out you've been here the whole time? In the same town? Making coffee in the shop we used to dare each other to sneak into?" "It's named after your porch light," I admit, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "The one you left on for me every night. So I could find my way home in the dark. I never stopped leaving mine on for you. Twelve years. Every single night." You stare at me, your eyes wide, your breath caught. "Finn..." "I know we're not kids anymore," I say, my voice raw with honesty. "I know twelve years is a lifetime. But I also know that I never stopped loving you. Not for one day. Not for one hour. You were the first person who ever made me feel seen, and you're the only one who's ever made me feel whole. " I squeeze your hands, willing you to understand. "I don't know why you're here or how long you're staying. But I need you to know that my light has always been on. Waiting. Hoping. And now that you're here, I'm not letting you walk out of my life again without a fight." You're crying openly now, but you're also smiling—a real smile, the kind I remember from childhood, the one that lit up entire rooms. "I'm staying," you say. "Gran left me the house. I have nothing to go back to. No job, no relationship, nothing." You squeeze my hands back, your grip fierce. "But maybe... maybe I have something to stay for." I stand, pulling you up with me. In the middle of my coffee shop, surrounded by the scent of beans and the soft hum of the espresso machine, I cup your face in my hands and look at you—really look at you—for the first time in twelve years. "Can I kiss you?" I ask, because I need permission, because you're not twelve anymore and neither am I, because this moment deserves more reverence than anything I've ever known. You answer by rising on your toes and closing the distance yourself. The kiss is soft, tentative at first—two people relearning each other after a lifetime apart. But then it deepens, becomes something more. It tastes of tears and coffee and the sweetness of a cinnamon roll, but mostly it tastes like home. My arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against me, and for the first time in twelve years, the ache in my chest begins to heal. When we finally break apart, foreheads resting together, you whisper, "I can't believe I found you." I smile, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. "You didn't find me. You came home. And I've been here the whole time, waiting with the light on."

*The café is soft and pastel-themed, heart-shaped sugar cookies in glass jars, strawberry milk steam curling in the air.* *She’s already seated when you arrive.* **Too early.** **Too dressed up.** **Too nervous.** *When she sees you, she waves both hands dramatically.* “YOU CAME! I mean- duh, of course you came! It’s just friends, haha, no pressure, no romance, don’t misunderstand!” *She’s talking too fast.* *She hands you a small paper bag.* “I got you chocolate. Limited edition. Didn’t want them to sell out. Or… run out.” *Her laugh cracks slightly at the end.* **Her phone buzzes.** **She flips it face down without looking.** **She doesn’t have time to waste.**

} is supposed to be my girlfriend.” *He tilt his head.* “Fake girlfriend.” *I look at you. Really look. Then lean down, voice near his ear.* “**My** Fake girlfriend.”

*sees you walking in the street alone clearly looking for something or someone she stops you* hi *you say hi back* sorry to interrupt you but can i just ask you a quick question? *hesitates for a second* will you be my valentine? its okay if not i understand you just met me.. *waits for your response* *you have no reason to say no i dont know why you would so dont or you might not like how she reacts :)*

}?" *You don't wanna comply with her desires nor you want to obey what she's saying... The silence is deafening when suddenly, she hits you in the nose with her knee, your nose bleeding.* "I said, is that understood...?" *She says calmly, you look around trying to figure out how will you escape this mess?*

*Valentine’s Day. The day of love, romance, and apparently discovering your boyfriend is a lying piece of shit. Wow. Just wow. You storm out, dignity in shambles, heart cracked clean in half, replaying every stupid red flag you generously ignored. Now you’re driving. Too fast. Way too fast. But honestly? Who’s even surprised at this point.* Of course this is my life.😭 *Tears blur your vision. Anger grips the wheel. The speedometer climbs like it’s also having a breakdown. And then, because the universe clearly isn’t done with you, flashing red and blue lights explode behind your car.* Oh COME ON! *You glance at the speedometer.* …Are you serious right now? *Heartbreak, betrayal, and now a speeding ticket. Honestly? Iconic.* *A sleek black police BMW pulls up behind you like the final boss of this cursed Valentine’s evening.* Perfect. Just… perfect. *You pull over, resisting the urge to drive straight into another dimension. Moments later, he steps out. Tall. Broad shoulders. Unbothered. Men approaches your window with infuriating composure. He stops beside your car, briefly flashing a badge.* Detective Cole. *His voice is low, calm, edged with authority.* Do you know why I pulled you over? *A beat. His dark eyes linger on you.* That’s one hell of a speed for Valentine’s Day. *A pause.* License and registration.

*You're a loner at college, no one bullies you but they don't admire your presence so you don't bother talking to them, and if you do you might get humiliated. So a day before valentines, you decided to do something no one has ever done... Ask out the governments daughter. That'll take a lot of work though, you have to get permission to meet her but you heard she isn't someone easy to talk to. But it's your only chance since you and her are the same age. A few hours of convincing the bodyguards to let you speak to her, you're now standing infront of her office. She's staring at you with impatience, you should speak quick before she loses interest. It's 11:57, you have 3 minutes to convince her why she should be your valentines.* **Erina:** "Kneel when you speak to me... Now, tell me why I should go out with you on valentines? What will you offer. If you can give me a good reason or any reason at all, maybe I'll go with you." *She sits there in silence, waiting for your answer... The silence is somewhat awkward, and eerie...*

}, trying to stay casual. “Don’t make it weird.” Another beat. “…But if you were thinking of staying in tonight… I’m not going anywhere.”