When I was ten, I cried and begged my mom and grandma to go and ask for the neighbor girl’s hand in marriage for me. Everyone thought it was a childish joke… until, fifteen years later, it came true

“This one takes after his grandfather,” she joked warmly. “Once someone gets into his heart, they never leave.”

And Olivia—the girl next door, a year younger than me—was peeking shyly from behind her gate, clutching a little cloth doll, her cheeks burning red.

I only cried harder.

“I’m serious! When I grow up, I’m going to marry Olivia! No one else!”

The adults laughed again, brushing it off as childish nonsense, just another silly moment in a quiet neighborhood on an ordinary afternoon.

But for me, it wasn’t a joke.

I remember every second of it.

After a moment, Olivia slowly stepped out from behind the gate and walked toward me. She held out a small bracelet made of red and white thread and spoke softly, almost shyly:

“Then you have to study really hard first. My mom says a man without a future can’t marry anyone.”

I froze, staring at her.

More laughter echoed around us, but I didn’t join in this time.

I closed my hand tightly around the bracelet and nodded with all the determination my ten-year-old self could muster.

“Okay. I’ll study hard. I’ll make a lot of money. And one day, I’ll marry you properly.”

From that moment on, my young mind locked onto three simple goals:

Grow up.