She wasn’t chosen from a crowd but was simply the girl next door. They’d grown up playing together as kids, and now, as adults, their play had changed.

He didn’t find anything special in her tongue, but he cherished the way she spoke, her words carrying echoes of their shared past.

Her lips, reminiscent of her mother’s, held the softness of family history. They curved into a familiar, gentle smile, shaped by time and love passed down through generations. Her lips, tender and familiar, carried the weight of a history she inherited from before her own birth.

When she said, “I love you,” it wasn’t just a phrase she learned but one that had been said often by her mother. She blushed as she spoke these words to the boy she had once played with, now realizing how deep their connection had become.