Elijah had never planned a date in his life. Not like this. Not with his heart.
But this was Aria.
And she had never had a childhood, nor a teenage crush, nor a slow, careful love story. The world had taken all of that from her. So he was going to give it back softly, sweetly, and with intention.
The garden was hidden behind wrought-iron gates and tall hedges, closed to the public for the evening. Twinkling lights wrapped around branches like fireflies caught in time. The scent of roses, lavender, and jasmine filled the air. A small path led to a table set for two beneath a willow tree, glowing beneath warm lanterns. A violinist played in the distance gentle, almost shy, as if not to disturb the magic.
Aria looked around, wide-eyed. Her breath caught as she stepped onto the cobblestone path, her fingertips brushing petals as though afraid they might vanish.
Elijah walked beside her, hand at her back, silent and steady.
He'd let her set the pace.
They reached the table. A meal of soft flavors and warm colors had been laid out things she loved, things she had once mentioned with a sparkle in her eyes.
She sat, slowly, still unsure if she was dreaming. Elijah took the seat across from her, not saying a word, just smiling gently.
Aria's eyes flicked toward the fairy lights, then back to him. Her hand lifted, and she drew a heart on the tablecloth with her fingertip.
He understood instantly.
"This is for you," he said. "For every birthday you didn't get. For every stolen moment I couldn't give you. For every day I thought of you and hoped you were safe."
Her eyes glistened.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small velvet box. Not a ring. Not yet. Inside was a charm bracelet simple, elegant, with a single letter hanging from it: A.
She took it with trembling fingers, tracing the metal as though it were spun from stardust.
She looked up at him, touched her chest, then his, then drew a small circle in the air.
He whispered, "Forever."
Later, they walked through the garden, side by side. Her dress swayed around her ankles, her curls catching moonlight like spun sugar. They reached a small bench surrounded by white tulips.
She gestured for him to sit, then plopped down beside him, legs crossed, and leaned into his side. He didn't move. He only turned his head slightly, pressing a soft kiss into her hair.
She looked up and then did something that stopped his heart she laughed.
No sound. Just the fullness of it the way her mouth opened wide, her shoulders shook, and her eyes glowed with light.
It was the first time he had ever seen her laugh.
Elijah felt a lump rise in his throat, emotion surging like a wave. He looked away, blinking hard.
She tugged on his sleeve gently and touched his cheek.
His voice cracked. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
Her lips curved into a smile so pure, so radiant, he felt it ripple through his bones.
The garden faded into quiet, the world holding its breath for them.
She leaned against him again, and he wrapped his arms around her his heartbeat steady, strong, hers syncing with it in silence.
Then came a moment Elijah hadn't expected. She pulled a small notebook from her bag weathered, with soft, wrinkled pages. She flipped it open to a drawing she'd sketched: a boy with storm-grey eyes and a girl curled near a dumpster, small and afraid.
He recognized it instantly. His throat tightened.
She tapped the image gently and looked at him, eyes deep with emotion.
"You kept that?" he whispered.
She nodded, then wrote something new in the notebook and turned it to face him:
You are still him.
His breath caught, and he leaned in, resting his forehead against hers.
"I never stopped being him," he murmured. "I never stopped being yours."
The violinist played something softer now, a melody almost too gentle to catch. Elijah took her hand, stood, and offered her a dance. Aria hesitated, then rose to her feet.
They swayed slowly under the lanterns. No choreography. No words. Just movement. Just feeling.
She pressed her ear to his chest to hear his heartbeat, and he kissed her forehead with reverence.
When the night ended, Elijah didn't rush her to the car. They sat on the edge of the fountain, Aria dipping her fingers in the cool water. He watched her, every breath she took as sacred as a prayer.
He memorized the way she looked in that moment the moonlight on her skin, the way her hair curled like poetry, the silent laughter still bright in her eyes.
And he thought, 'If I could live in just one moment forever, let it be this.'