“I’ve loved you for half my life,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m going to love you for all the rest of it.” The words hit something deep. Something old and aching and sacred. “Promise?” I whispered, not because I didn’t believe him—but because once, under a sky full of invented constellations and teenage bravado, we’d made that same vow. Said we’d find each other, no matter what. His eyes softened, something flickering behind them—memory, emotion, the weight of everything we’d been. “Still do,” he said quietly. “Always will.” A laugh broke from me, wet and quiet. “You
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