A romance novel.
A tale so serendipitous, so intricately woven into fate’s fabric, that even the most skeptical hearts would concede—it was meant to be.

They had met as toddlers, though they wouldn’t realize it until years later.
Both their fathers worked for the government of Ather; Margo’s father, Omari Kane, was a renowned surgeon with the Ministry of Health, while her mother, Uriah, managed a local elementary school. Reed’s father, Colt Greene, was a distinguished professor with the Ministry of Education, and his mother, Gwen, ran a well-known hair salon.
By some cosmic joke, Omari and Colt had been childhood friends who, despite their separate pursuits, ensured their families remained close.

Yet, as fate often does, it played tricks.
Margo and Reed, though bound by history, couldn’t stand each other as children.
Margo, an only child with a sharp tongue, was feisty and fiercely independent. Reed, the eldest of four boys, was patient, studious, and soft-spoken—the poster child for well-mannered sons.
Where Margo preferred solitary adventures, Reed played referee to his younger brothers.

Their childhood camaraderie ended abruptly when Omari’s work took him to another city. Margo sobbed as they said their goodbyes, her small fingers clutching Reed’s until the last possible moment. But children are nothing if not resilient.
Soon, she forgot about Reed.
Reed, however, never forgot Margo.

Years passed, and the universe conspired once again.
By the educational standards of Ather, students attended boarding school for senior high. And so, Margo and Reed found themselves at Grand Mountain College.

The moment Reed spotted Margo at orientation, his heart skipped a beat.
She, however, walked past him without a flicker of recognition.

Patience had always been Reed’s virtue, and fate eventually rewarded it.
On Margo’s birthday, he gifted her a basket filled with her favorite treats. It was only then that she took notice. Their parents reunited too, and from reluctant small talk bloomed a friendship, and from friendship, love.

Teenage love is often dismissed as folly, but theirs was steadfast.
They balanced each other—Reed, the calm to Margo’s storm; Margo, the fire that made Reed bold.
Late-night conversations. Stolen kisses between classes. Quiet walks under amber streetlights.
Their love grew in the spaces between words and glances.

But life, ever cruel, had different plans.

Omari was reassigned to Norway. Colt was sent to Canada.
Within days, Margo and Reed were pulled from school, placed on planes, and sent across the world.
Their last sight of each other was at the airport—glancing back, walking away, unwilling.

Years passed.
Margo thrived at McMaster University in Canada. Reed soared at Princeton. They lost touch, assuming their story had ended.

Then, one winter day, fate intervened.

Margo was in a coffee shop when she overheard a family speaking Atherian. She turned—and found Gwen Greene staring back.
Recognition. Tears.
Gwen called Reed.
Upon seeing Margo’s face on video, Reed drove eight hours through snow and ice just to throw himself into her arms again.

Their love reignited like it had been waiting, quietly burning, all those years.

They pursued graduate degrees together at UBC, found work back in government, moved to the quaint hamlet of Easten.
They laughed, planned, dreamed.

Then, before Margo’s 26th birthday, Reed proposed—an elaborate, private, breathtaking moment.
She said yes.
Of course, she said yes.

They returned to Ather to marry where it all began.
The celebrations were endless. The air was thick with excitement.

And then—

Tragedy struck.

On the eve of their wedding, Margo, ever cautious, ordered a virgin cocktail at her bachelorette party.
Unbeknownst to her, it contained mango—a fruit she was deathly allergic to.

Alone in her hotel room, she took a sip.
The reaction was immediate—her throat tightening, breath shortening.
She reached for her EpiPen—only to remember it was across the room, tucked neatly away.

She stumbled forward, hand outstretched.
But the door was too far, and the world tilted, and darkness took her before help could find her.

By the time they did, it was too late.

The morning that should have begun with wedding bells rang instead with the sharp, raw wails of loss.

Reed was halfway through tying his bowtie when Colt burst into the room.
One look at his father’s ashen face—and Reed knew.
Knew in the marrow of his bones.

“No,” Reed barked, half-dressed, shoving past him. “No—no—no.”

He ran.
Shoes flying off.
Suit jacket forgotten.
Barefoot and frantic down the long marble halls.

Guests parted like waves as he stormed through the hotel, pounding on her door, yelling her name.

No answer.

He kicked the door open.

And there she was.

Margo.
Lying still.
Hair fanned around her like a crown.
Eyes closed.
Peaceful. Terrifyingly peaceful.

“No—Margo—baby—no—wake up—wake up—”
Reed dropped to his knees, dragging her into his arms, screaming for help until his voice tore apart.

He rocked her, pressing his forehead against hers, whispering desperate promises into her stillness.
He kissed her forehead. Her frozen hand. Her unresponsive lips.

Paramedics came.
Too late.
Far too late.

They pulled him away from her body like he was just another piece of wreckage.

The burial was cruel in its finality.

The whole of Ather mourned.
Friends. Family. Strangers.
Even the skies wept—steady, unrelenting rain soaking the earth.

Reed stood alone at the gravesite, suit ruined, tie askew, face hollow.
The world blurred around him.
None of it mattered.

Only her name, carved into stone, felt real.

He knelt in the mud, hand pressed to the cold granite.

“You were my beginning,” he whispered, voice raw. “And I don’t know how to live in an ending without you.“

The final shovel of earth fell with a sound like a gunshot.
Sealing the love story that deserved more.
Deserved a lifetime.

But somewhere, in the soft rustling of Ather’s trees, in the ghost of children’s laughter on the breeze—
Margo and Reed’s love endures.

Because love—real, soul-deep love—is eternal.
And not even death can silence it.

Not completely.

Never completely.