A decade after their senior prom, Stefan kept a promise to meet his high school sweetheart, Elizabeth, at the ocean. But when the day arrived, it wasn’t Elizabeth who approached him. It was a young boy with a life-changing message.
The porch creaked as I leaned back in my chair, the evening air cool against my skin. Elizabeth sat beside me, her tea steaming in the fading sunlight. She looked beautiful, as she always did, wrapped in that old blue sweater she swore was the coziest thing she owned.
“Do you ever think about that night?” she asked, her voice soft, barely louder than the hum of the cicadas. I turned to look at her. “Every day,” I said.
And there it was again, that memory, as clear as if it had happened yesterday. The gym was packed, but I only saw her. Elizabeth stood by the punch table, her green dress shimmering under the fairy lights strung across the ceiling.
Glitter confetti fell in slow spirals from above, and the band was playing some slow song I didn’t recognize. I made my way over, heart pounding like I was about to ask her to prom all over again. “Hey,” I said, trying to sound casual.
She turned, her eyes lighting up when she saw me. “Hey yourself,” she said, smiling. I handed her a cup of punch.
“Thought you might need this. You’ve been dancing nonstop.”
“Thanks,” she said, taking a sip. “But you know, tonight’s all we’ve got.
I don’t want to waste a second.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. “Don’t say that,” I said. “We’ve still got the rest of the summer.”
She shook her head, setting the cup down.
“No, we don’t. My dad’s job starts next week, Stefan. We leave tomorrow morning.”
I felt the room spin for a second.
“Tomorrow?”
She nodded, her smile faltering. “I didn’t want to ruin tonight by telling you, but… yeah. Tomorrow.”
I looked at her, my mind racing.
I couldn’t believe it. This was it. The last time we’d be together.
“Then let’s make a deal,” I said suddenly, grabbing her hand. “A deal?” she asked, tilting her head. “Let’s meet in ten years,” I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.
“At the ocean. You know, the place we always said we’d go together. I’ll be there, waiting for you.”
She blinked at me, surprised.
“Stefan…”
“I mean it,” I said, squeezing her hand. “No matter what, I’ll be there. Ten years from now.”
She stared at me for a long moment, then smiled—a real smile, the kind that made my chest ache.
“I promise,” she said. We spent the rest of the night dancing, laughing, pretending tomorrow didn’t exist. When the music stopped and the lights came up, we said goodbye in the parking lot.
I held her as tight as I could, memorizing the way she felt in my arms. “Goodbye, Stefan,” she whispered. I couldn’t bring myself to say it back.
Instead, I just watched her walk away, her green dress swaying in the night breeze. At first, we tried. We really did.
I wrote her letters every week, pouring my heart out onto the page. She wrote back at first, her handwriting neat and careful, telling me about her new school and life in Asia. But then the letters stopped coming.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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