1
They lay side by side on the grass for hours, watching the clouds drift lazily across the sky. Silence wrapped around them, not awkward but comforting, as if the world had quieted just for them. Roselle turned her head, her heart swelling at the sight of Stephen beside her. There was something about him—more than just his striking features or the effortless way he carried himself. He made her feel seen, understood, safe.
Reaching out, she traced her fingers along his face, memorizing the contours of the boy she loved. His azure eyes met hers, soft with affection.
“Make love to me,” she whispered.
Stephen blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Rose…” His voice was gentle but firm, his fingers brushing light patterns on her cheek as if to soothe the yearning in her words. “You know I can’t. Let’s wait until our wedding night. I want it to be special.”
Roselle frowned slightly, her gaze never leaving his. “I’m twenty, Stephen,” she murmured, frustration lacing her voice. “I know what I want. My friends think it’s strange—that I’m still a virgin. They think you don’t love me because of it.”
Stephen suppressed a chuckle, knowing she wouldn’t appreciate it. Roselle had always taken certain things seriously, and laughter wasn’t always welcome. But the idea of anyone doubting his love for her was absurd.
Leaning in closer, he murmured, “I love you, Rose. With every part of me. Believe me, they’re just jealous.” His laughter escaped before he could stop it—light, genuine.
Her frown deepened. “What’s funny?”
Instead of answering, he pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek, his warmth settling into her skin.
“I’m sorry, okay?” he said, flashing the smile that never failed to make her heart skip. She stared at him, at those ruby lips, that boyish grin, the way his dark brows framed his face, making him impossibly more handsome. She wanted to kiss him, to lose herself in him over and over again.
“I love you, Rose. I really do.” His voice was quieter now, laced with something deeper. As he gazed at her, memories flooded back—the first time he saw her two years ago, sitting on a roadside bench with a book in her hand, waiting for the bus. Her curls had framed her delicate face, her eyes soft and curious as they skimmed the pages. He had fallen for her then, completely, and he had never looked back.
Now, lying beside her, he felt that same rush of love, as though time had never moved, as if she were still the girl on the bench and he was still the boy who couldn’t believe his luck.
Roselle nestled closer, breathing in the familiar scent of his clothes. Being in his arms made the rest of the world feel distant, irrelevant. “How’s your grandma?” she asked softly. She had visited his house just days ago, sitting by Mrs. Jones’s bedside, holding the older woman’s frail hand. The memory of meeting her for the first time resurfaced—how nervous she had been, how Stephen had introduced her with quiet pride, how his grandmother had seen what they were only beginning to understand.
Mrs. Jones had welcomed her with warmth, insisting she stay for dinner, cooking what she called her “special meal.” Even back then, Roselle had felt a part of Stephen’s world. And later that night, when he had driven her home and kissed her for the first time in his car, she had known—he was the one.
“She’s doing better,” Stephen murmured, his voice laced with relief. “I took her to the clinic yesterday. The doctor adjusted her medication. She’s strong, Rose. She’ll pull through.”
As he spoke, he brushed a stray curl from her face, his touch achingly tender.
Roselle parted her lips to say something, but before she could, Stephen pressed a finger against them.
“Shh…” he whispered, his voice a soft caress. “Let’s talk about us. Just us. No one else.”
The world seemed to conspire in their favor. The breeze was gentle, the sun warm but not overbearing. Nature itself felt like a quiet witness to their love, wrapping them in golden light.
She felt as if her heart might burst from the sheer happiness swelling inside her. Every part of this moment—the way Stephen looked at her, the weight of his words, the warmth of his lips—made her feel cherished. She couldn’t imagine a life without him. On the rare days she didn’t see him, everything felt off. He was her center, her calm.
“Us?” Roselle teased, even though she already knew what he meant.
Stephen nodded, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along her jaw. “I want our first child to be a girl,” he murmured, his voice low, full of promise. “As beautiful as you… after we get married.”
Her breath caught as his hand settled lightly over the pendant resting against her chest—the one he had given her. The weight of it, the warmth of his touch, sent a shiver down her spine.
“And if it’s a boy?” she asked softly.
Stephen’s smile deepened. “I don’t care, as long as they come from you.”
His hand drifted lower, resting against her stomach—a gesture filled with unspoken dreams, with a future they hadn’t yet put into words.
For a moment, they simply gazed at each other, the silence between them thick with love. Stephen took her hands in his, his voice laced with raw emotion.
“I can’t wait for the day I make you my wife, Rose. That will be the best day of my life.”
Roselle swallowed, her throat tightening. “And I’ll gladly say, ‘I do,’” she whispered, meaning every word with the depth of her soul. She didn’t just want a future with Stephen—she needed it. He was her everything.
“I just want to be with you forever,” Stephen murmured, his forehead resting against hers. “Only you.”
Then he kissed her—a kiss that felt more like a vow, soft yet filled with an intensity that spoke of a love meant to last lifetimes. When they finally pulled apart, Roselle rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
“If it’s not you,” she whispered, her voice steady, “then it’s no one else.”
And in that moment, she knew—with unwavering certainty—that a life without Stephen was a life she could never live.
•
Stephen smiled softly, lost in the memory of that evening—the golden light melting into the horizon, the scent of grass thick in the air, and Roselle beside him, her laughter wrapping around him like a melody. They had spoken of the future that day, spinning dreams between them as if they had all the time in the world. He had wanted to hold onto that moment forever, to never let her go.
“Stephen.”
The sound of his name pulled him back. He blinked, the memory fading as he turned toward the glass door, where Michael stood with an amused grin. Stephen hadn’t realized how long he’d been drifting in thought. Setting his glass of water down, he crossed the room to let him in.
Michael rolled his eyes as he stepped inside, a smirk tugging at his lips. The white curtains fluttered against the evening breeze, and the paintings on the walls cast long, soft shadows, adding to the quiet charm of the space. “What’s got you so deep in thought?” he asked, sinking into the couch with practiced ease.
Stephen didn’t answer right away. Instead, he wandered to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water, his thoughts still tangled with Roselle. The way her eyes had gleamed that night, the way she had fit so perfectly against him—it was impossible to forget.
Michael sighed dramatically, breaking the silence. “Seriously, bro, I was standing out there forever.” He brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, feigning annoyance.
Stephen chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t lie. I checked the door not long ago, and you weren’t there. Stop exaggerating.”
Michael shrugged, not quite able to hide the smirk playing at his lips. “Okay, fine, but it felt like forever.” He took the bottle Stephen had set in front of him and gulped down a few quick sips, his movements brisk, impatient—like he had something else on his mind.
Stephen picked up his phone, his expression softening as his thoughts drifted once more. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Mike,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent.
Michael bit his lower lip, his gaze flickering with something unreadable. “You’ve said that so many times.”
“And I’ll keep saying it,” Stephen beamed, the kind of smile that reached his eyes, like a man who had found something he never wanted to lose.
Michael repeated himself, but this time, his voice was gentler. “You’ve said that so many times, Stephen.”
He had watched his friend fall, deep and unwavering, into this love. And though Michael had never been the sentimental type, a small prayer crossed his mind: Let this last. Let this not be the kind of love that shatters.
The last time he’d seen Roselle, Stephen had been wrapped around her, his hands firm at her waist as if he couldn’t bear to let her go. Her cheeks had flushed pink as she laughed, her head resting against his shoulder. Michael had stood off to the side, waiting for their moment to end, yet even then, something inside him had stirred with quiet concern.
“I looked for you yesterday,” Michael said, his gaze flickering around the room. “Didn’t your grandma tell you?”
Stephen leaned back, sighing. “She’s probably in her room, sleeping.”
His grandmother. The woman who had raised him since his mother passed, the only family he had left. The thought of losing her tightened something in his chest. He had prayed for her recovery every night, whispered pleas into the silence, fearing the day his home would feel empty without her.
Michael, sensing the shift in his mood, stayed quiet for a moment before leaning forward. “Where were you yesterday?”
Stephen exhaled, shaking his head. “Why do you care?”
“Because you never tell me anything anymore,” Michael said, crossing his arms. His silk sweater clung to him as he moved, the silver chain around his neck catching the light.
Stephen smirked. “Because you have a big mouth, that’s why.”
Michael placed a hand on his chest in mock offense. “Wow. Right to my face? No shame?” Then, with a dramatic sigh, he continued, “But seriously, you didn’t pick up your calls. Let me guess—you were with her.”
The teasing lilt in his voice was unmistakable.
Stephen didn’t respond, but his expression gave him away.
Michael grinned. “Knew it.”
Shaking his head, Stephen opened his laptop, his fingers poised over the keys.
Michael, undeterred, pressed on. “I actually had something important to tell you.”
Stephen barely glanced up. “Doubt it.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “Bite your tongue. Lisa’s back.”
Stephen’s fingers froze. Slowly, he looked up. “Lisa? What Lisa?”
“Lisabeth,” Michael clarified, watching for his reaction. “You know, the girl who crushed on you all through high school? Bruce Springsteen’s daughter?”
A flicker of recognition passed through Stephen’s eyes. He remembered Lisabeth—brown-eyed, always flustered around him, stumbling over her words whenever she tried to say something more than casual. She had been obvious, almost painfully so.
“I thought she moved to London,” Stephen murmured.
“She did. But she’s back now. Just got into town.”
Stephen’s brows furrowed, but his voice remained indifferent. “And this was the important thing you had to tell me?”
Michael grinned, leaning forward. “Not just that. She asked about you.”
Stephen’s lips pressed into a thin line. “What did you tell her?”
“That you were hanging out with friends.” Michael air-quoted dramatically.
Stephen scoffed. “John’s been in Paris for five years. She probably saw right through that.”
Michael smirked. “Maybe. But she still sent you something.”
Stephen raised an eyebrow. “Sent me what?”
Michael scratched his head. “A gift.”
Stephen’s face hardened. “I have a girlfriend, Mike.”
Michael sighed. “And? Accepting a gift isn’t cheating.”
“I don’t want it.”
Michael leaned back, watching him. “You don’t even know what it is.”
“I don’t need to know.” Stephen’s tone left no room for argument.
Michael exhaled dramatically. “Man, you’re really something.” He wandered toward the portraits on the wall, staring at them for what felt like the hundredth time. “You know, Lisa’s really pretty.”
Stephen shot him a look.
Michael grinned, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll drop it. But if you ever run into her, at least tell her you got the package.”
“I’ll think about it,” Stephen muttered, turning back to his laptop.
But as Michael’s voice faded, his mind drifted once more—to Roselle.
Her laugh.
Her smile.
Her warmth.
And in that moment, there was no hesitation, no doubt.
She was the only future he wanted.
“
