In Your Arms, Forever
β¨ πΌπ π΄πππ ππππ, πΉππππππ β¨ Two surgeons. One arranged marriage. Strangers with painful pasts, bound by duty, not love. "I donβt expect anything from you," she says. "Good," he replies. "I have nothing to give." But between long shifts and silent dinners, something changes. "Youβre always taking care of others," he murmurs. "Who takes care of you?" "I donβt need anyone," she whispers. "Maybeβ¦ you do," he says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Walls crumble, hearts falter. "Youβre scared," he whispers. "Of what?" she asks. "Of what happens if this becomes real." One heartbeat. One breath. One step closer. "Then donβt stop it," she says. And just like thatβ¦ love begins. π
