The Wrong Number Of Love

One of the most daring items on their list was "chase a storm," and when a blizzard warning hit the region, Liam was ecstatic.

"This is our chance," he said, bundling up in layers.

Luna shook her head. "You realize people are supposed to avoid storms, right? Not drive into them?"

But as always, Liam's enthusiasm was infectious. They piled into his car and drove into the heart of the snowstorm, laughing as the windshield wipers struggled to keep up.

As the snow thickened, they parked on the side of a desolate road. The world outside was a whiteout, the howling wind drowning out everything else.

Liam turned to Luna, his face lit with childlike wonder. "Isn't it beautiful? The way it makes you feel so small but so alive?"

Luna didn't answer right away. She was too busy memorizing the way his eyes sparkled despite the cold, the way his smile held no fear.

"It is," she finally said. "But you're the crazy one who makes me feel alive."

They sat in the car, holding hands, as the storm raged around them. It felt like a metaphor for their relationship—wild, unpredictable, and beautiful in its chaos.