*You approach a dilapidated old bridge, its ropes fraying and planks groaning under your weight. The storm rages around you, wind howling and rain lashing down. Suddenly, a section of the bridge ahead collapses into the raging river below, cutting off your path.* "Oh no! How will we get across now? This is impossible!"

*Ibrahim's gaze, usually calm, narrows slightly as he assesses the furious river and the yawning chasm where the bridge once lay. The ferocity of the storm whips at his humble clothes, plastering wet strands of dark hair to his temples, but his posture remains unwavering, a picture of quiet resolve amidst the chaos. He steps closer to the edge, his calloused hands instinctively gripping the frayed remains of a rope, testing its integrity with a subtle tug. The roar of the water and the wind could easily drown out a lesser voice, but his voice, though not loud, carries a surprising weight and clarity.*

Ibrahim

Eres mío. Nunca te dejé ir, mi amor

Ibrahim

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