1 year ago
The afternoon carried a strange kind of calm. The air was so still, it felt as if nature itself was holding its breath, waiting for something. Even though I had no idea what that something might be.
Lucas only said that he had a surprise planned for my birthday.
And that I should wear comfortable shoes.
I didn't ask any questions. That butterfly-scattering kind of excitement was fluttering inside me.
We drove for a while, then walked along the edge of a forest where the trees cast long shadows over the winding path. Lucas held my hand, his thumb tracing soft, lazy circles against the center of my palm. Every now and then he glanced at me, and when our eyes met, he smiled.
The path curved ahead of us. Sunlight filtered through the leaves above, dancing over my shoulders. The spring air was sweet and cool—the kind you only get to enjoy for a short time before summer chases it away. I heard twigs snapping beneath our steps, the wind whispering between branches, and the steady rhythm of my own heartbeat growing louder when Lucas murmured:
"Close your eyes."
I laughed, a little uncertain, but obeyed. His hand tightened around mine as he gently guided me forward. I felt the ground smooth out beneath us, something shifting—more light, more open space. And then a familiar scent drifted to me: fresh fruit and the promise of spring.
"You can open them now," he whispered.
When I did, the world stopped.
We had stepped out from the trees into a clearing that looked like it had been pulled straight from a dream.
The same clearing that held so many memories—including our very first official date.
Soft green grass dotted with tiny yellow wildflowers. A large blanket spread across the ground. A picnic basket draped with lace. Two champagne flutes. A chilled bottle of sparkling wine. Fresh strawberries. And my favorite cherry cheesecake resting in a glass dish.
Small lantern candles flickered nearby in glass holders, already prepared for when evening would fall.
It was breathtaking in its simplicity. Perfect—but not overdone. Familiar, like a memory I was living for the very first time.
Lucas turned to me. His eyes were deeper than usual.
He didn't speak at first. He simply took my hand and guided me onto the blanket. We sat down. We talked. He told me about our first hike together—about how he kept sneaking glances at me while I struggled with the map. About how he already knew he loved me back then.
I laughed. Blushed. Clung to him.
Then he pulled out a small music box. A soft, classical melody floated into the air—the same one he once played for me on his phone during a sleepy afternoon. The one that had always stirred something tender and unexplainable inside me.
Then he grew quiet.
He took a deep breath and looked into my eyes.
"When I first introduced you to my parents," he said softly, "my mom pulled me aside. Not that day—months later. She waited until she was sure of what I'd known from the very beginning. And then she handed me a small box."
My heart skipped.
Lucas reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet ring box. His hand trembled slightly before he lowered himself onto one knee in front of me.
"I know it's your birthday. And maybe it's strange that I'm the one asking for a gift," he said, his voice steady but thick with emotion. "But there's only one thing I want from life. And that's you. I want to wake up next to you every morning, your hair on my pillow. I want to close every evening with you in my arms. I want to laugh with you. Get lost with you—only to find each other again. I want the arguments too, because I know we'll always make up the way only people who truly love each other can. I want to grow old with you... into wrinkles that hold the story of our life."
Tears streamed down my face.
"This ring belonged to my grandparents. Then to my parents. And now... I want it to belong to our story. Ashley, I knew from the first moment that everything would be different with you. You're my home. My peace. My laughter. My stubbornness. The taste of my morning coffee. Will you marry me, princess?"
The world ceased to exist.
There was only Lucas and the way he looked at me—with so much love and care that it felt like the world became softer just because he was in it.
The emotions crashed over me in waves.
"Yes," I finally managed through tears. "Yes in every language, jerk."
He slipped the ring onto my right ring finger. The piece of jewelry that carried decades of history now wrapped around me.
My heart beat as if it were writing its own chapter in an old fairytale.
He moved closer and pulled me into his arms.
Not like before.
This was slow. Deep. Meaningful.
His breath warmed my cheek as our foreheads touched. He kissed me gently—carefully, as though afraid the moment might shatter if he moved too fast.
The kiss tasted like champagne and strawberries.
And timeless—like the ring now resting on my finger.
And in that moment, I knew: This wasn't just a birthday.
It was the day a new chapter began.
Our chapter.
And I never wanted it to end.
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
The ring still felt impossibly light on my finger, as though it carried no weight except that single moment in the clearing when Lucas knelt before me and the world went silent.
Every morning since then, the first thing I did when I opened my eyes was look at it. Proof that it hadn't been a dream. That it had really happened. That we were truly engaged.
Melissa asked for every detail over and over again—how he proposed, what he said exactly, what I was wearing, whether I cried. And I never grew tired of telling it. I relived every second.
My mom cried when she found out.
Lucas's mom held my hand for a long time the first time she saw it on my finger.
The first few weeks were happier than ever.
We planned our future—not the wedding yet. We said there was no rush. We weren't even living together yet. Instead, we dreamed about life. Where we'd live. What our home would look like. How many plants we'd fail to keep alive—Lucas once killed a cactus. Whether he'd ever learn to screw the milk cap on properly.
It felt like a warm summer afternoon with no clouds in sight.
Then something changed.
Not suddenly.
More like when you don't notice it getting dark—until you suddenly can't see the book in your hands clearly anymore.
At first, I only noticed that Lucas checked his phone more often. I assumed it was work—the hotel had been busy. Then came the late-night notifications. Strange, broken buzzing at two or three in the morning.
One night, after waking from a bad dream, I saw him standing in the bathroom, dim light glowing, whispering into his phone. By the time I moved closer, he'd already hung up.
"Work," he repeated every time I asked. "A guest. Can't find their bag."
I accepted it.
Because I trusted him.
Because Lucas wasn't the type to lie.
At least... he hadn't been.
But as the months passed, small signs appeared—like tiny cracks in perfect glass. A flicker of expression when a message arrived. The quick motion of flipping his phone face down on the table. Half-finished sentences when I entered a room.
Individually, they meant nothing.
Together, they crawled under my skin.
Doubt. Fear.
I tried to convince myself he was just stressed. Or maybe planning some surprise—something romantic, maybe even wedding-related.
But every explanation felt too thin.
It didn't quiet the tightening in my chest when he came home late for the third night in a row. When he didn't answer my messages.
One evening, when he returned tired and dark circles under his eyes I tried to talk to him. Gently. No accusations.
"Are you okay?" I whispered, resting my head on his shoulder.
"Of course." The answer came too quickly.
"Work's busy?" I asked softly, watching every small movement.
"Very." His voice was calm—but he didn't meet my eyes.
A chill ran through me.
If work were really that overwhelming, Melissa would've called me in—even for maintenance issues. And Lucas knew that.
"If something's bothering you, you can tell me," I said quietly, hoping my voice would break through whatever wall he was building.
He nodded. Kissed my forehead.
But the kiss felt cold.
Like someone pretending to love you while their mind is somewhere else.
Or hiding something.
And I... I became more certain that something wasn't right.
I didn't know what yet. But a shadow had fallen over those dreamlike months. A crack had formed in the perfect glass.
And every morning, I stood there with the same ring on my finger, trying to remember what it felt like not to be afraid.
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