The months passed quickly, and before we knew it, it was already July. Chris would be saying goodbye to us and to the city in mid-August. I accepted it sooner than I expected. Maybe because he never saw a future with me. Or maybe because we were both still young, still full of hope. I didn't know what would become of us. So we waited—just like today.
One day, while staying at his place, I told him I wanted to go on a trip together. "Let's take a short vacation," I said. "Two or three days—somewhere far. Let's explore, discover a new place." I've always loved traveling, and I still do. Driving under streetlights in the dark, romantic music playing in the car—that always made me feel peaceful.
"I want to do that with you on our trip," I said.
"We can go if I can arrange things," he replied, briefly.
I didn't push further.
"Come on, let's go out," I said. "Take me to that seaside place with the wheat field—the one we went to before."
The view was breathtaking. The restaurant was up high, overlooking a small golden wheat field, and right behind it, the sea. Oh my God, it looked like something out of a magazine cover. We sat under the trees, in the shade, enjoying the food and the view.
(I never went back to that place after. But I think I might want to soon. I wonder if it's still there after 16 years.)
The city Chris would move to had no sea and was much colder. Would he be happy there? Maybe he'd discover new places with a new girl.
I even thought to myself—maybe he'll take her skiing...
That evening, when we returned home, he brought wine again.
"I want to drink tonight," he said. "I picked something with a bitter taste this time."
We went to our room, took two glasses, and started a movie on the laptop. I had two glasses, but the wine really was bitter.
Soon, we were snuggled up, light-headed, breathing each other in.
"I can't get enough of your scent, Chris," I said. "How will you leave me?"
I started crying.
"Hey, don't cry," he said. "I'll visit during my time off. I'll call you often."
Then he started kissing me—passionately, with a husky voice.
"This is my man," I thought. "Only you, Chris."