It was a crisp spring night at Colorado State University, the kind where the air buzzes with the afterglow of a fraternity party. Emma stood near the curb, laughing with friends as a chaotic group tried to wedge themselves into a car clearly not built for ten. Amid the shuffle, a voice floated from the trunk—yes, the trunk. “I'm not from around here,” the voice said, accompanied by a hand passing a phone through the headrests. “Can I have your number? Maybe you could give me a tour sometime?” Emma raised an eyebrow, amused. The audacity. The charm. The trunk. Who is he? She figured it was good for a night of free drinks, maybe a funny story to tell later. But when they met at the bar, something unexpected happened. The music faded. The crowd blurred. And the world narrowed to just the two of them. They talked for hours—about everything and nothing. Dreams, childhoods, favorite songs, the way the mountains looked at sunrise. The bar, once roaring with noise, seemed to hush around them, as if the universe itself leaned in to listen. From that night on, it was never just a tour. It was a journey—through cities, seasons, and years. From trunk to forever, their story began with a spark and grew into a fire that never stopped glowing.