Flavy was seventeen when she first met Marvin. He was tall, boyishly charming, with eyes that seemed to read her mind before she could speak. She loved him at once—entirely, with reckless trust.
The city was their playground: cafés, empty streets after midnight, libraries where they whispered poetry to each other. But Marvin was inconsistent. He would vanish for days, return with apologies and soft smiles, break her heart, and promise change. Flavy, young and tender, forgave him each time.
"You have to trust me," he whispered once, after a particularly long silence.
"I do," she said, though her voice trembled.
And the cycle continued—hope, love, disappointment