I can't believe it. And that’s unusual because I believe in almost everything. I believe in the Tooth Fairy, in an Easter Bunny hiding chocolate eggs in gardens all over the world. I even believe everyone has a bit of magic inside them. But I, Pandora Rosier—the certified dreamer—can’t quite believe this: that this goddess with beautiful, shining green eyes, the woman I’ve been quietly daydreaming about for months, maybe even years, is sitting right here next to me. She’s humming a song I told her about just a few days ago, and I hope the sound will linger in my ears forever.
Sitting on this wooden bench, surrounded by the roses I planted years ago that still bloom as if in their prime, I feel like I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.
"Do you think we can be like this forever?" I ask, careful not to disturb her peace. Turning my head, I catch her gaze resting softly on me.
“Forever is a big word,” she says quietly, “that’s why I’d never say forever.”
I take a deep breath, realizing maybe it is a little too early for this. She looks away, as if searching for the right words. Her eyes, though calm, are steady. That’s so like her—confident in everything she says, certain even when she doubts.
“I don’t think I believe in forever,” she says finally. “But I believe in moments that don’t end. Times that just stay with you, even when everything else changes. Maybe that’s enough, you know? To have something that sticks with you, no matter where life goes.”
I can’t find the words to respond, so I just rest my head on her shoulder, breathing in the sweet caramel scent of her skin as I feel the softness of her dark green top against my cheek.
The evening breeze brushes through my hair, and I start to feel the chill. I pull out my jacket, which I carry everywhere, no matter the weather. As I look up, I see the sky dimming, the white clouds from this morning now gray and heavy with rain.
“We should head back. It’s getting dark, and it’ll probably rain soon,” I say, standing up from the bench.
“Pandora?” she asks, her voice carrying a shyness I’ve never heard before.
“Yes, Lily?” I ask, hoping I haven’t said anything wrong.
She hesitates, then says, “If I did believe in forever, I’d want to spend mine with you.”
I process her words in silence as she rises from the bench and walks towards the garden gate. I realize she might think I don’t mean what I said, just because I haven’t responded yet. Quickly, I run after her.
I catch up to her and reach for her hand. “Lily, I know you don’t believe in forever, not after everything. But let me show you. Let me be your forever.” I feel a knot of nerves in my stomach; this isn’t something I’d normally be brave enough to say. I’m more used to dreaming than doing.
She takes a shaky breath, and I see her eyes glisten with tears. “You’d want to be my forever?”
I don’t answer with words. I meet her gaze, tracing the freckles that scatter across her cheeks, admiring the fiery red of her hair that she never thinks is beautiful enough. A single tear slips down her face, and I brush it away gently with my thumb, feeling the warmth of her skin. I move closer until I can feel her breath against my face. My hands find their way around her waist, pulling her close. She presses in, brushing a strand of hair away from my face, and then her lips meet mine—so soft, softer than I could have imagined. My arms tighten around her, and we stay there, wrapped up in each other.
A drop of rain hits my arm. It’s starting, and soon it’ll pour. But I don’t care. In this moment, it feels like forever.
The rain starts as a soft patter, barely noticeable over the sound of our breathing. But in seconds, it picks up, turning from a drizzle into a steady downpour. Drops soak through our clothes, trickling down our faces, but neither of us moves. We stay locked in each other’s arms, as if we’re anchored in place, like nothing else matters beyond this moment.
Finally, Lily pulls back just a little, looking up at me with a smile so tender it almost hurts. “We should probably get inside,” she says, a slight laugh escaping her lips.
I nod, grinning back. “Yeah, good idea.” But I don’t let go of her hand, and she doesn’t let go of mine as we make our way through the garden. We move slowly, like neither of us wants to break whatever spell this is, the kind you can’t explain, only feel.
As we step inside the house, shaking off the rain, I realize just how soaked we are. Our clothes cling to us, dripping small puddles onto the hardwood floor. I can’t help but laugh, and she joins in, the sound of our laughter echoing warmly in the quiet of the room.
“Here,” I say, grabbing a blanket from the couch. I drape it around her shoulders, rubbing her arms gently to warm her up. She holds the edge of the blanket, pulling it tighter around herself, but then, without a word, she opens it, inviting me to step in with her.
Pressed together under the blanket, her warmth mingles with mine, and suddenly the rain doesn’t feel so cold anymore.
We settle down on the couch, leaning into each other as the rain continues to tap against the windows. The room is dim, the last light of dusk fading, casting soft shadows across her face. I watch her, studying every line, every freckle, as if I need to commit her to memory in case she decides to disappear with the rain.
“Tell me more about these moments that don’t end,” I murmur, not sure if she’ll want to keep talking about it. But I’m curious, desperate, even, to understand her idea of ‘forever.’
She looks thoughtful, eyes drifting toward the window. “It’s like… a feeling, I guess. Something that stays with you, like the way you remember a favorite song. You might not listen to it every day, but it’s there, waiting for you, part of you, no matter what else changes.” She glances at me, her gaze soft but piercing. “Does that make sense?”
I nod, heart pounding in my chest. “It does.” And somehow, it does. Because that’s how I feel about her—like she’s already embedded in my life, like I’ll carry this feeling with me no matter what happens.
The rain outside thickens, drumming harder against the window. There’s a flash of lightning, a distant rumble of thunder, but it only adds to the warmth between us.
In a moment of quiet, she turns to me, her fingers tracing small patterns along my hand. “I’ve never really been able to trust people the way I trust you,” she whispers, almost to herself. Her voice is low, vulnerable in a way I’ve never heard before. “Sometimes it scares me.”
I squeeze her hand, hoping she can feel the certainty in my touch. “You don’t have to be scared,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m here, for as long as you’ll have me.”
A shy smile plays on her lips, and I can see her eyes glistening again, but this time it’s not sadness. “I think… I think maybe that’s what a forever moment is,” she says. “When someone feels like home.”
I reach up, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face, and press my forehead gently to hers. “Then let’s make as many of those moments as we can,” I murmur, closing my eyes, feeling her warmth, the steady rise and fall of her breath against mine.
And in that tiny, rain-soaked room, wrapped in a single blanket, it feels like we’re crafting something timeless—a moment that might not ever end. We sit there for a long time, cocooned in the warmth of each other and the blanket, as if this little world we’ve made is safe from everything outside. The storm grows louder, each clap of thunder shaking the windows, each flash of lightning illuminating her face, catching the glint in her green eyes. I watch her take it all in, her expression calm and thoughtful, as though she’s not afraid of the storm outside but instead mesmerized by it.
I wonder, for maybe the hundredth time, what she’s thinking.
“What is it?” she asks, catching me staring. Her lips curl up into a smile, playful, curious.
“Just thinking,” I say, realizing I’ve been silent for too long. “You’ve always seemed so sure of yourself, you know. Like nothing could shake you.”
Her smile fades just a little, but her eyes hold their intensity. “People tell me that a lot,” she says, glancing away. “But I think they only see the parts of me that I let them see. Maybe they miss the quiet parts, the softer parts.” She pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders, almost as if she’s protecting herself from a chill that goes deeper than the rain outside.
I nod, unsure if she wants me to say anything or just listen. Her fingers trace a slow circle on my hand, and I can tell there’s something she wants to say. The silence stretches, and I’m patient, waiting, holding space for whatever she needs.
“You know,” she says finally, her voice quiet, “I always thought being strong meant standing alone, that I couldn’t rely on anyone else, not really. But then you come along…” She trails off, the words slipping away. She stares down at her hands, the corners of her mouth turning up in a small, private smile. “And suddenly, I don’t want to be so alone anymore.”
I feel something tighten in my chest, a deep ache at the honesty in her words. “You don’t have to be,” I say softly. “I’ll be here, even when you feel like shutting everyone out. You don’t have to do it all alone.”
She’s silent, but I can see the wheels turning in her mind. Her face softens, her gaze dropping to our intertwined fingers, and for a moment, I feel her let down one more of the invisible walls that she’s always kept up around her heart.
“Pandora,” she says after a while, her voice barely more than a whisper, “do you ever think about what it would be like to share your whole self with someone? All the parts, even the messy ones?”
My pulse quickens, but I manage to keep my voice steady. “Sometimes… I think that’s all I want. To find someone I can be real with. No filters, no pretending.”
She nods, looking as if she’s about to say something else but hesitates. Finally, she continues, “I think, maybe… you’re the only person I’d ever want to try that with.”
Her words settle into me like warmth on a cold day. For a moment, the storm outside feels like a distant hum, as if nothing could intrude on this small world we’ve created. I take a deep breath, thinking about how much I’ve wanted this moment, this connection. “Then I’ll do my best to be worthy of it. You know, the real you,” I murmur.
She rests her head on my shoulder, and we sit like that, letting the quiet take over again, words drifting between us unspoken. I feel the steady rise and fall of her breathing against me, like she’s anchoring me here in the present, in a way nothing else ever has. It’s strange, the way I can feel so completely wrapped up in her, as if everything I need is here, and everything else in the world has faded.
After a while, she lifts her head, looking up at me, her gaze searching. “You’ve made my life a lot more complicated, you know,” she says, her eyes glinting with humor and something else I can’t quite place.
“Oh yeah?” I say, grinning. “How’s that?”
“Because now I have to rethink everything I thought I knew about myself,” she says, rolling her eyes in a way that’s more playful than annoyed. “You make me want things I’d told myself I didn’t need. You make me want… this.” Her hand gestures between us, a little shy, as if she’s still not used to naming what we are.
“What’s so bad about wanting this?” I ask, tilting my head, genuinely curious.
She shrugs, glancing away, and I can tell she’s struggling with the words. “It’s not bad,” she says finally, her voice soft. “It’s just… different. I’ve always been fine on my own, you know? I didn’t think I needed anyone to feel complete. But with you, it’s like… you’re this missing piece I didn’t realize I was looking for.”
Her words make me feel weightless, like I could float away, and I pull her closer, letting my forehead rest against hers. “I know what you mean,” I say. “It’s terrifying, but in the best way. Like… even if it’s complicated, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
She lets out a long breath, closing her eyes, and I can see her shoulders relax a little. It’s like she’s letting go of something she’s held onto for too long. “Sometimes I wonder if we’re just too different,” she murmurs, more to herself than to me. “If wanting this—us—is enough to make it last.”
I tilt her chin up, catching her gaze. “Maybe that’s what makes it work. The fact that we’re different, that we see things in each other that we don’t see in ourselves.”
She studies me, her eyes searching, as if she’s trying to see into my heart. “You’re something else, Pandora Rosier,” she says finally, a smile tugging at her lips.
I laugh, and the sound seems to melt the last bit of tension in the air. She’s looking at me like she’s seeing something she’s never seen before, and for the first time, I feel like I’m truly understood. Completely seen.
The rain outside has softened to a gentle patter, the storm gradually giving way to quiet. The room is wrapped in dim light, casting soft shadows across her face, her freckles and fiery hair touched with a warm glow. She looks at me, and for the first time, I see a glint of fear mixed with hope, like she’s opening up to something that might hurt, but she’s choosing to do it anyway.
“Come on,” I say, standing up and offering my hand. “I want to show you something.”
She raises an eyebrow but takes my hand, letting me lead her out of the room and back through the house to the garden door. I push it open, letting the fresh smell of rain-soaked earth fill the air as we step outside. The rain has mostly stopped, leaving only a light mist in the air and the occasional soft patter of raindrops falling from the leaves. The garden looks different, everything glistening with droplets, alive in a way it isn’t under the sun.
“This is my favorite time to be in the garden,” I say softly, guiding her to a patch of roses, the ones I planted years ago. Their petals are heavy with rain, the colors deepened, richer than they are during the day. “The rain makes everything look like it has a second life, like it’s more itself. Just… truer, somehow.”
She looks around, her eyes wide, taking in the blooms and the raindrops clinging to the leaves. “It’s beautiful,” she says, and there’s a softness in her voice I’ve never heard before.
I glance at her, the way she’s standing there, surrounded by the roses and the mist, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ll ever have words that feel big enough to hold this feeling. “You’re beautiful,” I say quietly, my heart pounding at the simplicity of it.
She blushes, the color rising in her cheeks, and she looks down, a shy smile playing at her lips. “You’re just saying that because you’re in love with me.”
“I am,” I say, without hesitation. It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud, and it feels both terrifying and freeing. “I am in love with you, Lily.”
She looks up, her expression shifting, and I see something fierce and tender in her eyes. She steps forward, wrapping her arms around me, pressing herself close, like she’s holding onto me as tightly as she can. “And I’m in love with you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible but filled with certainty.
We stand there, wrapped up in each other, surrounded by the roses and the lingering mist. The world feels softer, quieter, like it’s paused just for us, and in that moment, I realize that maybe she was right. Maybe forever isn’t about the length of time. Maybe it’s about moments like these—moments that feel so full, so true, that they could fill a lifetime.