“You’re quiet,” she had said, searching his face.
“I just hate that this is it,” he admitted.
“It’s not it,” she insisted, though her voice wavered. “I am just moving away. We are not breaking up.”
They had argued earlier that afternoon, a small, strained conversation neither of them handled well.
“I wish you could stay a bit longer,” Daniel had said, more sharply than he intended. “Just until we figure out how we can be in each other’s lives physically.”
“My father’s job isn’t something we can postpone,” she replied, frustration flashing in her eyes. “You think I want to leave this soon?”
He had looked away then, ashamed of the selfishness beneath his words.
That night, when their song began to play — a slow, aching melody about young love and forever — he pulled her closer than usual.
“Promise me you’ll find a way to keep in touch as soon as you settle down,” he whispered.
“I will,” she said. “I promise.”
“I have something special I made for us. Give me your hand,” he said, his eyes glowing in the lights.
As their song came to an end, he slipped a red bracelet onto her wrist before leaning in to kiss her.
She studied the bracelet. It was strong and simple, but clearly chosen with care.
“Take a look at its inside,” he said, proud of himself as he noticed her appreciative smile and thinking about how much he would miss it.
Inside, it was engraved with their initials: D.M. and C.A., small and slightly uneven from the jeweler’s hand.
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