He didn’t hesitate. Water covered the path, muddy and cold, but she looked at him with that half-smile. Without a word, he scooped her up, cradled in his arms like a scene from an old film, and walked through. She laughed, holding on tight. That’s love—quiet, simple, soaked in effort.
There’s something quietly magical about the way her hair smells—like soft shampoo, sunshine, and comfort. It’s not a perfume; it’s a feeling. When he leans in, it’s home. Even in silence, that scent lingers, calming, familiar. Funny how a little thing like that can hold so much love in it.
There’s something quietly magical about the way her hair smells—like soft shampoo, sunshine, and comfort. It’s not a perfume; it’s a feeling. When he leans in, it’s home. Even in silence, that scent lingers, calming, familiar. Funny how a little thing like that can hold so much love in it.
