He was gone.
The crowd swallowed his leather jacket, his dark head, and the rigid line of his shoulders. I stood frozen, the small black velvet pouch a burning weight in my palm. Around me, the market continued in a blur of cheer—laughter, bells, the scent of sugar and pine. It felt like a mockery.
Not yet.
The words reverberated in my skull, a silent scream. I hadn’t thought of them. I hadn’t planned them. They had simply fallen out of me, a fundamental truth dislodged by a child’s innocent question. And the look on his face… the shock, the hope, the sudden, fearful retreat.
For when you figure it out.
What did that mean? Figure what out? I had just told him I loved him. I had chosen him. Wasn’t that the answer? Or was the question bigger than that? Was it about trust? About a future
