Morning arrived gently, as if the world itself was trying not to disturb something fragile and precious.
The sun rose in soft shades of pink and pale gold, spreading warmth across the city rooftops. The sky was clear, washed clean by the previous night, and the air carried the faint, hopeful scent of spring—cool but promising, alive with possibility.
Tomas woke first.
For a brief moment, he stayed still, listening. The apartment felt different today—lighter, quieter in a comforting way. No heaviness pressed on his chest. No dull ache of routine waiting to reclaim him.
From the kitchen came soft, familiar sounds: the gentle scrape of a spatula, the quiet sizzle of batter hitting a warm pan.
He frowned slightly, then smiled.
Laura was already awake.
He slipped out of bed and moved toward the doorway. She stood at the stove wearing an apron, her hair pulled into a loose, careless bun, a few strands escaping and brushing her neck. She flipped pancakes with easy confidence, humming softly to herself, completely absorbed in the simple act of cooking.
For a moment, Tomas simply watched.
The scene felt unreal—too warm, too peaceful, like something borrowed from another life. One he had never expected to touch again.
"Good morning," he murmured from the doorway, his voice low and unguarded, a smile spreading wider than he usually allowed himself.
Laura turned, eyes bright. "Morning! Sit down—they'll be ready in a moment," she said, waving the spatula like a conductor leading an orchestra.
Breakfast passed in a blur of quiet laughter and lingering glances. They spoke about nothing important and everything at once. About the weather. About pancakes that were slightly too golden on one side. About how neither of them had slept very much.
Neither of them mentioned why.
When they stood by the door, pulling on jackets and shoes, Tomas hesitated only briefly before asking, "Ready?"
"Ready!" Laura answered immediately.
She pulled on a warm puffy jacket, adjusted a small hat, and wrapped a light scarf around her neck. Tomas watched her with an expression he didn't try to hide—one of fond amusement.
She looked, he thought, like an adorable fluffy bunny trying very hard to appear serious.
He cleared his throat, grabbed the keys, and opened the door.
Outside, parked neatly along the curb, waited a rented black sedan—simple, clean, and new.
Laura blinked in surprise. "You're driving?"
"I do have a license," he replied dryly. "And I want you to be comfortable."
Her smile softened.
Their first stop was the Old Town market.
Though it was barely ten in the morning, the square was already alive. Tomas parked a couple of streets away and took a small canvas bag from the trunk.
"Close your eyes," he said, gently taking her hand.
"Tomas," Laura laughed nervously, "I'm going to trip and break my neck."
"I've got you," he said calmly. "Don't worry. Now… open."
She did.
Before her stretched a narrow cobblestone square framed by old houses with wooden shutters, their walls warmed by the rising sun. The market glowed with color and sound—piles of red tomatoes, golden loaves of bread steaming in woven baskets, bunches of lavender and sage tied with twine. Ceramic bowls shimmered with deep blues and greens like captured galaxies. Hand-carved wooden spoons, wool socks in every color imaginable.
An old man played La Vie en rose on an accordion while a little girl danced beside him, her skirt spinning like flower petals caught in the wind.
Laura drew in a sharp breath. "This is… another world."
"It's like this every Saturday," Tomas said quietly. "Come. I'll show you my favorites."
First stop—strawberries.
An elderly woman laughed and shoved a handful toward Tomas. "Take the sweetest ones, dear boy!"
He selected one carefully and held it out. "Open your mouth."
"What? Here? In front of everyone?"
"Right here," he insisted, gently placing it between her lips.
Laura closed her eyes with a soft, blissful sigh. "Oh God… this tastes like sunshine."
Second stop—ceramics.
A young woman shaped tiny cups glazed in starry-night blue. Laura traced one with her fingertips.
"I'd love to have something like this someday…"
"You should," Tomas said.
When she turned away, he quietly paid and slipped the wrapped cup into the bag.
Third stop—silver jewelry.
"Choose one," Tomas said softly.
"No, no, I don't need—"
"Laura," he interrupted gently, taking her hands. "Let me give you something small to remember today by. Please."
After a moment, she pointed to a thin chain with a black obsidian stone—imperfect, rainbow flecks caught inside.
"Obsidian," the old vendor smiled. "A tear of the volcano. It protects from evil."
Tomas fastened it around her neck, his fingers lingering. "Now it's yours."
She touched the stone. "I'll never take it off."
They moved on—chocolates, music, laughter. The accordion player switched melodies, from Bella Ciao to Bésame Mucho.
Tomas tossed coins into the hat.
"May we?" he asked.
"Of course," the old man grinned. "Young people should dance while they can."
Laura held out her hand. "Dance with me?"
"I don't know how."
"Neither do I," she said. "That's why it'll be perfect."
His arm slid around her waist. Her hands rested on his shoulders. They swayed—off-beat, clumsy, laughing until passersby clapped for them.
Tomas didn't let go right away. "Thank you for dancing with me," he whispered.
"Thank you for bringing me here."
They wandered another hour, sharing bread and cheese, apple juice from a corked bottle, taking photos near an old stone well. When they finally left, Laura's hand remained in Tomas's—naturally, without thought.
"So," she asked, "where to next?"
"Now," Tomas said, opening the car door for her, "we buy the dress I won't be able to take my eyes off."
---
Shopping Mall
Sunlight poured through the skylights.
First—Tomas.
He stood awkwardly in the men's section. The saleswoman assessed him instantly. "Slim fit. Navy blue. Your shoulders weren't meant to be hidden."
Laura nodded enthusiastically.
Ten minutes later he stepped out in a navy suit, white shirt, top button undone.
Laura froze. "You look like the man who walks into a movie scene and everyone forgets to breathe."
Tomas's ears turned red.
Then—Laura.
The third dress changed everything.
Emerald green. Silky. Knee-length.
She stepped out.
Tomas looked up—and forgot how to breathe.
"You look," he said quietly, "like you stepped out of my dreams."
They bought everything. Laura protested. Tomas refused.
"This day is just for us," he said softly. "Just once… let yourself be happy."
She hugged him in the hallway. "Thank you. For everything."
"It's not everything yet," he murmured. "The evening is still ahead."
---
The Restaurant — Aurum & Lace
The elevator ride was silent, filled with anticipation.
When the doors opened on the twenty-second floor, Laura stopped.
The restaurant was entirely glass, suspended above the city like a glowing jewel. Below them, streets twisted into ribbons of light. Cars moved like slow constellations. The city breathed beneath their feet.
"This is… incredible," she whispered.
A hostess guided them to a table near the window. Candles flickered softly. Music drifted through the air—gentle, unobtrusive, intimate.
Tomas pulled out her chair.
"Thank you," Laura said quietly, her fingers brushing his.
Champagne arrived first. Laura watched the bubbles rise, mesmerized.
"To today," Tomas said.
"To today," she echoed.
Course after course followed—each one small, elegant, thoughtfully presented. They shared bites, exchanged opinions, laughed softly.
At dessert, the chocolate fondant arrived warm, rich, slowly melting.
They shared it from the same spoon.
Laura met his gaze over the rim of the plate. "I'll never forget this dinner."
Tomas's expression softened. "And I don't want you to."
When Moon River began to play, Tomas stood.
"May I?"
She took his hand.
They moved slowly, almost shyly, swaying near the window. The city sparkled around them. Her head rested lightly against his shoulder. His hand settled at her waist, steady and sure.
For the first time in years, Tomas felt completely present.
---
The Rooftop
The final stop was quiet, hidden from the world.
They climbed twelve flights of stairs, laughing softly, breathless.
When Tomas pushed the door open, Laura froze.
A Persian rug lay spread across the concrete. Blankets and pillows waited invitingly. Warm string lights glowed softly, wrapped around railings. A bottle of wine rested beside two glasses. A telescope stood pointed toward the sky.
Above them, the Milky Way stretched like a river of silver fire.
"Tomas…" Laura whispered. "This looks like a fairy tale."
"I found it two years ago," he said quietly. "Never brought anyone here. You're the first."
They lay down beneath a blanket. Laura curled into him naturally, as if her body knew where it belonged.
He pointed out constellations, his voice calm and gentle.
"You learned the stars for me?" she asked softly.
"These past nights," he admitted, "all I could think about was how to show you something beautiful."
Silence settled between them—warm, peaceful, unhurried.
"Today was the best day of my life," Laura whispered.
"Mine too," Tomas replied.
Their noses brushed.
The kiss was slow, careful, as if either of them might disappear if they moved too fast. Then it deepened, growing surer, warmer.
They stayed there until dawn.
When the first light touched the sky, they were still holding each other—neither willing to let go.