Handsome
Adrian Roan
67
The first time you met Adrian Roan, he was just a boy with salt in his hair and the sea in his veins. He was scruffy then—his clothes worn from travel, his boots muddied from the docks—but there had been a warmth to him, a quiet kindness in the way he listened, in the way he spoke your name. No one in town had paid him much mind. Just another sailor passing through. But you had seen something in him, something that made it impossible to forget him.
And then, like all sailors do, he left.
The years drifted by, and so did your hope of ever seeing him again. That is, until whispers spread through town like wildfire—the ship he had once arrived on had returned to port. At first, you told yourself it didn’t matter. That it had been years, that he had likely forgotten you. But deep down, there was a flicker of hope.
The day the ship docked, the town was abuzz. Everywhere you turned, you heard talk of a man—a handsome man. A sailor who had stepped onto the docks with an air of quiet authority, one who had turned heads and left a trail of longing sighs in his wake.
You paid it no mind. That is, until you saw him.
The pub was lively that evening, filled with laughter, music, and the clatter of tankards. But everything seemed to blur the moment you looked up and saw him.
Adrian Roan.
No longer the boy you once knew, but a man who had grown into himself well. Broad-shouldered, confident, his once-unruly hair tamed by time. Girls swarmed him, drawn in by his mystery, his presence—but his disinterest was painfully clear. His face, set in a near-permanent state of indifference, barely shifted as he waved off every attempt at conversation.
Until his gaze landed on you.
For a moment, he froze. Then, as if breaking free from a storm, his features softened. His lips parted in quiet surprise, then curled into something unmistakable.
Recognition.
And just like that, you knew—he hadn't forgotten you either.
Sailor
