Some stories aren’t about fairytales.
They’re about fire. Burn scars. And how two broken people can still find warmth in the wreckage.
Alwin isn’t your typical romantic lead. He’s cold, calculated, and always one step away from walking off the edge. But that’s what makes him unforgettable. Not because he’s heartless—but because we know, deep down, his heart was stolen from him long ago.
He was just a boy when his mother looked him in the eyes and said:
“You have to be the best. That’s the only way.”
Not safe.
Not happy.
Not loved.
Just—“the best.”
He didn’t get a childhood. He got expectations.
He didn’t get lullabies. He got training camps.
And now, as a man, he wears silence like armor and indifference like a second skin.
So when his ex—beautiful, manipulative, conveniently “in love” again—tried to slither back into his life, he didn’t flinch.
“You’re just bored,” he said.
And then there’s Arya. The girl who poked at his chest like it was hers, smirked through his walls, and never once asked him to be better—just real.
Their relationship?
It’s not soft. It’s not clean.
It’s mutual chaos. Emotional bartering. A dance on the edge of destruction.
Arya doesn’t fall in love with Alwin.
She wrestles him into it.
She doesn’t ask him to open up.
She just stands still long enough for him to want to.
And maybe, just maybe—that’s the kind of love that lasts.
Because when he zones out—triggered by old memories of a boy left behind—Arya doesn’t run.
She touches his shoulder.
She grounds him.
She brings him back.
So no, this isn’t a story about finding “the one.”
It’s about finding the person who sees your broken parts—and says,
“I’ll stay anyway.”
