On a quiet Tuesday, Yuki held my face in her hands and read aloud a note she'd written without telling me. It wasn’t a grand declaration—just a page of small things: the pattern of the light on our kitchen floor at five, the way I said her name, my habit of leaving books half-opened. She read each line like one might read the names carved into an old bench: with reverence and a little smile.
As a skilled Timekeeper, I had been maintaining the fabric of time for centuries. My duties took me to various eras, and I had grown accustomed to the solitude of my work. That was until I stumbled upon Yuki, a brilliant and beautiful scientist from the 22nd century. mywife 327 yuki aiba
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