Awesome Group of Awesomeness (AGA) discussion

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Ok it’s called “for always”
It’s my first romance so forgive me if it’s cheesy. I want an honest review tho!





The rain had been falling since morning — a soft, endless weeping that seemed to soak through everything. Even the sky felt the sorrow of tomorrow. I remember standing by the window, my forehead pressed against the cold glass, watching the droplets trickling down slowly. The world outside was all gray and mist — the kind of gray that blurs the line between sky and field, between sorrow and silence.

He was leaving in the morning.
My love. My Matthew.

Even the sound of his name seemed too fragile to speak aloud that night, as though the air itself would break it apart.

He came to me at dusk, his uniform darkened by rain, the brass buttons dull in the fading light. He smiled — that same crooked boyish grin that had first looked at me two summers ago. But there was something different in his eyes now: a quiet knowing, a kind of distance that frightened me.

“You’ll catch your death standing out there,” I said, forcing a small laugh as I opened the door.

He stepped inside, dripping, the smell of wet wool and tobacco clinging to him. “I’ll take my chances,” he smiled.

I busied myself with the kettle, though my hands trembled. The sound of the water bubbling filled the room, a small, ordinary sound in a world that felt anything but ordinary.

“Sit,” I said softly. “You must be tired.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to sit. I don’t want to rest. If I stop moving, I’ll start thinking.”

“About tomorrow?”

He looked at me then — really looked — and I saw the flicker of fear behind his brave smile. “About everything.”

The rain grew heavier, drumming against the roof like distant gunfire. No, I mustn’t think about that. I turned from the window, went to him, and reached for his hand. His fingers were cold and rough from the training camps, the trenches he had already seen once before.

“Promise me you’ll come back,” I whispered.

He didn’t answer. His silence was an answer in itself.

We ate little that night. The bread went untouched, the tea grew cold. We talked instead — of small things, of the orchard that would bloom come spring, of the way the river glowed gold in the late summer sun.

“I’ll wait for you,” I whispered.

“Just promise me you’ll live,” he murmured.

But then, as the clock in the hall struck ten, something inside me broke.

“Don’t go,” I said, my voice cracking. “Please, Matthew, don’t leave me. There must be some way—”

He stepped forward, his hands cupping my face, thumbs brushing away my tears. “You think I want to go?” he said fiercely. “You think I haven’t dreamed of staying here, with you, in this cottage, for the rest of my life?”

“Then stay,” I begged.

“I can’t. You know I can’t. They need men. And if I don’t go, someone else’s son will take my place. A boy, a child who should never see the horrors I’ve seen.”

The words hung between us like smoke. Outside, thunder rolled low and far away.

When he kissed me, it wasn’t gentle. It was desperate — the kind of kiss that says remember me, the kind that burns into your bones. We found our way upstairs without speaking, our bodies trembling, our hands greedy and uncertain, as though the night itself might dissolve at dawn.

Afterward, we lay tangled in the dim light, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. I tried to memorize the sound, the rhythm, the warmth of him. I wanted to gather every piece of that night and press it between the pages of my mind so I could return to it when the world grew cold.

He fell asleep before me. I watched him, the rise and fall of his chest, the faint furrow in his brow that never quite left him since he had left the first time. I wanted to wake him, to tell him again that I loved him, that I’d wait forever if I had to. But I didn’t. I should’ve. I should have made him stay with me. But instead, I listened to the rain, to the clock, to the soft sound of him breathing.

Morning came too quickly.
He rose with the gray light, dressed in silence. I sat on the edge of the bed, his dog tags glinting faintly as he slipped them over his neck. When he turned to me, I saw the tear he tried to hide.

“Wait for me, my darling,” he said, a slight trembling in his usually strong voice.

“For always,” I answered.

And then he was gone.

The rain stopped that afternoon. The air smelled of earth and smoke, and the world felt hollow. His letters came for a time — worn envelopes, smudged with dirt and rain, words full of longing and hope.

But then, one day, they stopped.

Weeks later, a telegram arrived:
“Private Matthew Whitaker. Killed in action, Somme Front. June 1916.”

I remember the sound of the paper crumpling in my hand. I remember the kettle whistling on the stove. I remember the rain beginning again, soft and endless…



“Mrs. Whitaker?”

The nurse’s voice pulls me back. I blink, the room coming into focus — pale walls, the hum of fluorescent lights, the faint scent of antiseptic.

She’s standing by the window, smiling gently. “You were dreaming again,” she says.

I touch the locket at my neck — worn smooth after all these years. Inside is a small photograph: a young man in uniform, his smile frozen in time.

“It wasn’t a dream,” I whisper. “It was the last night I ever saw him.”

The nurse hesitates, then sits beside me. “He sounds like he loved you very much.”

I nod slowly, my eyes drifting to the rain streaking down the glass — soft and endless, just like that night.

“He did,” I say. “And sometimes, when it rains like this, I swear I can still feel him beside me. The sound of his heartbeat. The smell of his coat. The way he said my name, as if it belonged only to him.”

Outside, the sky darkens, and thunder murmurs in the distance.

I close my eyes. In the hush between raindrops, I hear him — faint, but certain — whispering against my ear:

“Wait for me.”

“For always…”

Ophelia wrote: "Ok it’s called “for always”
It’s my first romance so forgive me if it’s cheesy. I want an honest review tho!





The rain had been falling since morning — a soft, endless weeping that seemed to so..."

Pure cinema 👅❤️

Oh my goodness I'm invested! Your writing is so beautiful and poetic!!!

Really? Thank you.

It’s about to be rewritten soon

Ophelia wrote: "Ok it’s called “for always”
It’s my first romance so forgive me if it’s cheesy. I want an honest review tho!





The rain had been falling since morning — a soft, endless weeping that seemed to so..."

this is so good I wish my writing was this scrumptioussss

GURL! THAT WAS AMAZING!!!!! I just sucked into it so QUICK!!!!!