I was never one to believe in fantasy. My life was a quiet, predictable existence, filled with spreadsheets, office meetings, and the occasional weekend getaway. But all of that changed the day I met her.

Her name was Emiko, and she wasn't like the other women I'd dated. She was elegant, impossibly graceful, and seemed to radiate an otherworldly beauty. I first saw her in a park one autumn evening, sitting alone beneath a tree, her long, black hair flowing like silk around her shoulders, the moonlight illuminating her delicate features.

There was an undeniable pull, something primal and magnetic that I couldn't explain. I didn't believe in love at first sight, but when I saw Emiko, something shifted within me.

"Are you lost?" I asked, walking up to her, trying to sound casual but failing. Her presence was overwhelming, and I felt almost foolish for speaking.

She looked up from the book she had been reading and smiled—just a small, knowing curve of her lips—but it was enough to stop my heart.

"Not lost," she replied softly. "Just waiting."

Her voice was like a melody, soothing yet strange, as though she had the power to calm storms with a single word.

We talked for hours that day. It wasn't just the way she looked, though she was stunning—it was how she made me feel. There was an ancient depth in her eyes, as though she had seen centuries pass by, though she appeared no older than twenty-five. It didn't take long for us to fall into an effortless rhythm, sharing our lives, our hopes, and even our darkest secrets.

We started seeing each other regularly. Everything about Emiko felt perfect—until the night I discovered the truth.