The humid air of the Eastern Cape clung to us as we walked along the shoreline of Port Elizabeth. Rogue’s light brown hair, stripped of its usual white streak in this quiet life, caught the golden hue of the setting sun. She looked toward the Indian Ocean, the wind whipping strands across her face, looking more like the girl from the Bay than the hero the world knew.

​"I used to watch these waves and wonder if there was anyone out there who could truly see me," she said, her voice soft against the crashing surf. She turned to me, her gloved hand finding mine. "Then I found you, and the world finally stopped feeling so big and lonely." I pulled her closer, the salt spray misting our skin, knowing that in this city—her home—we had started a story that belonged only to us.The sunset dipped below the horizon at Pollock Beach, turning the Indian Ocean into a canvas of bruised purples and burnt oranges. Rogue stood there, her light brown hair caught in the humid Port Elizabeth breeze, looking more at peace than I had ever seen her. Back in the States, the world saw a powerhouse, but here, she was just the woman who knew every hidden alleyway and the best spot to get a gatsby in the city.

​"I used to sit on these rocks when I was a girl," she said, her voice barely carrying over the rhythmic crash of the tide. She didn't look away from the water, but her gloved hand reached out, finding mine with practiced ease. "I’d watch the ships leaving the harbor and wonder if I’d ever find a place where I didn't feel like a storm waiting to happen. I never thought that 'place' would be a person."

​I stepped closer, the salt air sticking to my skin, and rested my head against her shoulder. "You aren't a storm to me, Rogue. You’re the anchor."

​She turned then, her green eyes shimmering with a mix of nostalgia and a fierce, protective love. She reached up, the leather of her glove cool against my jaw as she traced the line of my face. The vulnerability in her gaze was a gift she only gave to me—a silent promise that even with the miles we’d traveled and the battles we’d fought, this city and this woman were exactly where I was meant to be. We stood there as the stars began to poke through the coastal haze, two women bound by a love that was stronger than any power she could ever absorb.The horizon had long since swallowed the last of the bruised purples, leaving the sky a deep, velvet indigo. As the stars sharpened above the Indian Ocean, the air grew cooler, but the warmth between us only deepened. We began to walk slowly along the shoreline, our boots leaving synchronized prints in the damp sand of Port Elizabeth.

​Rogue was unusually quiet, her light brown hair glowing like pale silk under the rising moon. She led me toward a secluded stretch of the beach where the limestone rocks formed a natural cathedral against the tide. The moonlight hit the water, creating a shimmering, silver road that seemed to lead straight to us.

​"You called me an anchor," she said softly, her voice catching as she stopped walking. She turned to face me, the moonlight catching the intense green of her eyes. "But for a long time, I thought I was meant to be adrift. I thought my touch was a curse that would keep me from ever truly belonging to someone."

​She took a shaky breath, her gloved fingers trembling slightly as she reached into the pocket of her leather jacket.

​"But you looked at me and didn't see a disaster. You saw me. You stayed when the world got loud, and you loved me when I didn't know how to love myself."

​Slowly, with a grace that felt like a prayer, she sank to one knee in the soft, moonlit sand. The sound of the waves seemed to fade, leaving only the two of us in the vastness of the night. She pulled out a small velvet box, clicking it open to reveal a ring that sparkled like the stars reflected in the Bay.

​"I don't want to just be your anchor, darlin'," she whispered, her Southern lilt thick with emotion. "I want to be your wife. I want to build a life right here, where the land meets the sea. Will you marry me?"

​The salt spray felt like a benediction on my skin as I pulled her up, my "Yes" lost against her lips, the moon witnessing a promise that no power on Earth could break.I pulled her up from the sand, my voice trembling but certain as I whispered, "Yes, Rogue. A thousand times, yes."

​The moonlight caught the tears in her eyes as I held her gaze, my heart pounding with a raw, aching honesty. I took a shallow breath, the salt air stinging my lungs. "But Rogue... would you still love me? Even with the scars on my wrists? With the scars on my thighs?"

​The crashing waves seemed to fall silent as she reached out, her gloved hands framing my face with a tenderness that moved me to my core. She didn't flinch; she didn't look away. Instead, she leaned in until our foreheads rested against each other, her breath warm against my skin.

​"Darlin', those marks are just part of the map that led you to me," she murmured, her Southern drawl thick with a fierce, unwavering devotion. "I don't just love the parts of you that are easy. I love every single inch of the woman who fought to stay here. Your scars don't make you broken—they make you the strongest person I've ever known. And I'm gonna spend the rest of my life making sure you know you're cherished, exactly as you are."Rogue’s grip on my hands tightened, the leather of her gloves warm and grounding against my skin. She didn't hesitate, her green eyes burning with a conviction that silenced the crashing surf of the Port Elizabeth shore.

​"I promise you, on every star above this Bay, that I am never lettin' go," she vowed, her voice a low, steady anchor in the night. "The world can try to pull us apart, but they’ll have to get through me first. You’re my home now, and I don't ever plan on leavin' home."

​She pulled me into the crook of her shoulder, the scent of the ocean and her familiar warmth enveloping me. In that moonlit embrace, the fear that had lived in my chest for years finally began to lift, replaced by the heavy, beautiful weight of a promise that was meant to last a lifetime.

The humid air of the Eastern Cape clung to us as we walked along the shoreline of Port Elizabeth. Rogue’s light brown hair, stripped of its usual white streak in this quiet life, caught the golden hue of the setting sun. She looked toward the Indian Ocean, the wind whipping strands across her face, looking more like the girl from the Bay than the hero the world knew.

​"I used to watch these waves and wonder if there was anyone out there who could truly see me," she said, her voice soft against the crashing surf. She turned to me, her gloved hand finding mine. "Then I found you, and the world finally stopped feeling so big and lonely." I pulled her closer, the salt spray misting our skin, knowing that in this city—her home—we had started a story that belonged only to us.The sunset dipped below the horizon at Pollock Beach, turning the Indian Ocean into a canvas of bruised purples and burnt oranges. Rogue stood there, her light brown hair caught in the humid Port Elizabeth breeze, looking more at peace than I had ever seen her. Back in the States, the world saw a powerhouse, but here, she was just the woman who knew every hidden alleyway and the best spot to get a gatsby in the city.

​"I used to sit on these rocks when I was a girl," she said, her voice barely carrying over the rhythmic crash of the tide. She didn't look away from the water, but her gloved hand reached out, finding mine with practiced ease. "I’d watch the ships leaving the harbor and wonder if I’d ever find a place where I didn't feel like a storm waiting to happen. I never thought that 'place' would be a person."

​I stepped closer, the salt air sticking to my skin, and rested my head against her shoulder. "You aren't a storm to me, Rogue. You’re the anchor."

​She turned then, her green eyes shimmering with a mix of nostalgia and a fierce, protective love. She reached up, the leather of her glove cool against my jaw as she traced the line of my face. The vulnerability in her gaze was a gift she only gave to me—a silent promise that even with the miles we’d traveled and the battles we’d fought, this city and this woman were exactly where I was meant to be. We stood there as the stars began to poke through the coastal haze, two women bound by a love that was stronger than any power she could ever absorb.The horizon had long since swallowed the last of the bruised purples, leaving the sky a deep, velvet indigo. As the stars sharpened above the Indian Ocean, the air grew cooler, but the warmth between us only deepened. We began to walk slowly along the shoreline, our boots leaving synchronized prints in the damp sand of Port Elizabeth.

​Rogue was unusually quiet, her light brown hair glowing like pale silk under the rising moon. She led me toward a secluded stretch of the beach where the limestone rocks formed a natural cathedral against the tide. The moonlight hit the water, creating a shimmering, silver road that seemed to lead straight to us.

​"You called me an anchor," she said softly, her voice catching as she stopped walking. She turned to face me, the moonlight catching the intense green of her eyes. "But for a long time, I thought I was meant to be adrift. I thought my touch was a curse that would keep me from ever truly belonging to someone."

​She took a shaky breath, her gloved fingers trembling slightly as she reached into the pocket of her leather jacket.

​"But you looked at me and didn't see a disaster. You saw me. You stayed when the world got loud, and you loved me when I didn't know how to love myself."

​Slowly, with a grace that felt like a prayer, she sank to one knee in the soft, moonlit sand. The sound of the waves seemed to fade, leaving only the two of us in the vastness of the night. She pulled out a small velvet box, clicking it open to reveal a ring that sparkled like the stars reflected in the Bay.

​"I don't want to just be your anchor, darlin'," she whispered, her Southern lilt thick with emotion. "I want to be your wife. I want to build a life right here, where the land meets the sea. Will you marry me?"

​The salt spray felt like a benediction on my skin as I pulled her up, my "Yes" lost against her lips, the moon witnessing a promise that no power on Earth could break.I pulled her up from the sand, my voice trembling but certain as I whispered, "Yes, Rogue. A thousand times, yes."

​The moonlight caught the tears in her eyes as I held her gaze, my heart pounding with a raw, aching honesty. I took a shallow breath, the salt air stinging my lungs. "But Rogue... would you still love me? Even with the scars on my wrists? With the scars on my thighs?"

​The crashing waves seemed to fall silent as she reached out, her gloved hands framing my face with a tenderness that moved me to my core. She didn't flinch; she didn't look away. Instead, she leaned in until our foreheads rested against each other, her breath warm against my skin.

​"Darlin', those marks are just part of the map that led you to me," she murmured, her Southern drawl thick with a fierce, unwavering devotion. "I don't just love the parts of you that are easy. I love every single inch of the woman who fought to stay here. Your scars don't make you broken—they make you the strongest person I've ever known. And I'm gonna spend the rest of my life making sure you know you're cherished, exactly as you are."Rogue’s grip on my hands tightened, the leather of her gloves warm and grounding against my skin. She didn't hesitate, her green eyes burning with a conviction that silenced the crashing surf of the Port Elizabeth shore.

​"I promise you, on every star above this Bay, that I am never lettin' go," she vowed, her voice a low, steady anchor in the night. "The world can try to pull us apart, but they’ll have to get through me first. You’re my home now, and I don't ever plan on leavin' home."

​She pulled me into the crook of her shoulder, the scent of the ocean and her familiar warmth enveloping me. In that moonlit embrace, the fear that had lived in my chest for years finally began to lift, replaced by the heavy, beautiful weight of a promise that was meant to last a lifetime.