Always my love

The first time Samuel saw Layla, she was standing by the sea, the wind playing with her hair, her gaze fixed on the endless horizon. It was a quiet evening, and the sun dipped low, casting golden threads across the water. He remembered thinking she looked like she belonged there — like the waves had shaped her spirit, wild and free.

They met by chance, or perhaps by fate, as so many love stories begin. Samuel was a traveler, a man who’d spent his life moving from place to place, seeking meaning in the world’s hidden corners. Layla was the daughter of a fisherman, her heart rooted in their small coastal village. Where Samuel sought adventure, Layla longed for home.

Yet from that moment, their hearts spoke a language neither had known until then.

Days turned into weeks, and Samuel delayed his next journey. He stayed, helping her father mend nets, learning the names of the stars she pointed out at night, and walking with her along the shore. Their love grew like the tide — steady, powerful, unstoppable.

They married under a sky painted with soft hues of dawn. The villagers gathered to bless the union, and the sea whispered its own blessings in gentle waves upon the shore. In Samuel’s vows, he promised, “Always, my love — in every season, in every storm, I will stand by you.”

Years passed, and their home filled with laughter. Two children — Eli and Mira — chased each other through the fields, their joy as boundless as the ocean’s edge. Samuel built boats with his hands, taught Eli to fish, and carved tiny animals from driftwood for Mira. Layla sang as she worked, her voice soft as the breeze through the dunes.

But love’s journey is never without trials.

One winter, a sickness swept through the village. It came like a thief in the night, taking the old, the frail, and even the strong. Mira fell ill first. Samuel and Layla sat by her side, wiping her brow, whispering words of comfort. Despite their prayers and the healer’s efforts, Mira’s small hand grew cold in Layla’s grasp one bitter morning.

Grief carved deep lines in their hearts. Layla’s laughter faded, her songs silenced by sorrow. Samuel, too, felt adrift — as if he had lost his way on some endless sea. But even in their shared pain, they clung to each other, knowing that love was the only anchor they had left.

“Always, my love,” Samuel whispered as he held Layla through sleepless nights.

Time, as it does, softened the edges of their grief. Eli grew tall and strong, the image of his father, with his mother’s gentle eyes. He spoke often of leaving, of seeing the world beyond their village — a dream Samuel understood all too well.

When the day came for Eli to set sail, Layla wept, though she smiled through her tears. Samuel wrapped an arm around her shoulders, watching their son’s boat disappear into the horizon.

“We raised him to be brave,” Samuel said softly. “He carries our love with him, wherever he goes.”

Years rolled on. The seasons changed, the village grew. Samuel’s hair turned silver; Layla’s hands grew soft with age. Still, they walked the shore each evening, hand in hand, as they had in youth. The sea was their witness — to joy, to loss, to every promise kept.

On their fiftieth anniversary, Eli returned with his wife and children. Laughter once more filled their home. Grandchildren played in the surf, and Layla’s voice rose again in song. Samuel felt his heart swell with gratitude — for the love that had endured, for the life they’d built together, for the promise he had kept.

But as winter came again, so did the final storm.

One evening, as the sky turned dark and the wind howled, Samuel fell ill. Layla stayed by his side, as he had once stayed by hers. She held his hand, traced the lines of his face, and whispered the words they had shared a lifetime.

“Always, my love,” she said, tears shining in her eyes.

Samuel smiled, his strength fading, his heart full. “And beyond,” he answered, his voice barely a breath.

When Samuel passed, the sea mourned with her, waves crashing against the shore in a sorrowful song. The village gathered, as they had all those years ago, to honor a man who had loved truly, deeply, and faithfully.

Layla lived on, finding comfort in the faces of her grandchildren, in the rhythm of the waves, in the memory of Samuel’s steady hand in hers. Each evening, she walked to the shore, whispering her promise to the wind.

And when at last she joined him, the sea was calm, the sky painted in hues of dawn — just as it had been on the day they wed.

Two souls, bound forever.

Always, their love.