MARSHALL'S POV
The setting held a certain magic, a quality that made the past feel tangible. The moon, a celestial spotlight, illuminated our faces as we sat, our backs against the ancient oak. It seemed as though the tree itself leaned in.
I looked into Freya's eyes, each glance a journey into the past, etched in the lines of her expression. The night was a sweet, and our words became the strokes that painted the memories of that fateful encounter.
We revisited the details, each nuance of that first kiss explored with a delicacy that befitted the significance of the moment. The moonbeams, filtering through the leaves, cast a soft glow on Freya's face, accentuating the play of emotions that danced in her eyes.
The words flowed, weaving a narrative of tension and unexpected connection.
