Ethan reached into his pocket slowly.
Not because it was heavy.
Not because it was difficult to reach.
But because he was afraid the moment might shatter if he moved too fast—like glass held together only by silence.
He placed something on the table between us.
It made no sound when it touched the wood.
A small black lantern charm.
For a second, I didn't speak.
It was delicate—too delicate for something meant to carry meaning this heavy. The metal edges were worn smooth, dulled not by age alone but by touch. Too many fingers. Too many moments. Like it had already survived more memories than it should have.
I frowned, tilting my head slightly, studying it.
"What's that?"
"A promise," Ethan said.
I let out a soft laugh, light and unthinking. "That's not an answer."
But he didn't smile back.
Instead, his fingers brushed the lantern once—slow, careful, almost reverent. Like the charm could feel him. Like it mattered.
"When the flame is lit," he said quietly, voice dropping low, "it means hope."
Something in his tone made my chest tighten.
"When it burns out…"
He paused.
The silence stretched long enough to feel uncomfortable.
"…it means waiting."
My smile faded.
The room felt smaller somehow. Closer.
"Waiting for what?" I asked.
He didn't hesitate.
"For you."
The air shifted.
Not dramatically. Not loudly.
Just enough to steal my breath.
My heart stumbled, missing a beat before catching itself again.
"Ethan—"
"No," he interrupted, not sharply, not unkindly. Carefully. Like he was afraid I might pull away if he pushed too hard. "Listen."
His eyes held mine. Steady. Serious. Unguarded in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.
"I don't know where your work will take you," he continued. "I don't need to know. I don't need details. I don't need explanations."
His voice softened.
"Just promise me one thing."
I hesitated.
"What?"
"That no matter how dark it gets," he said quietly, "you won't disappear without telling me."
Something twisted painfully inside my chest.
Because I already knew—somewhere deep down—that the darkness would come.
And that I would be tempted to vanish into it.
I swallowed hard.
"I promise."
The word felt heavier than it should have.
Ethan exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for months. Maybe years. A soft smile touched his lips then—relieved, almost fragile.
"Good," he said. "Then I promise too."
"For what?"
"I'll wait," he said simply. "As long as it takes."
Years passed like pages turning.
Too fast to read properly.
Too slow to forget.
They filled those years with noise and light and small moments that felt infinite while they lasted.
They went to the amusement park on a day when the sky was too blue to feel real. The kind of blue that made the world seem kinder than it actually was.
Anna hated rides.
Ethan dragged her anyway.
She screamed on the roller coaster—loud enough that strangers laughed. She cursed him halfway through, fingers clawing into his sleeve, and punched his arm the second they stumbled off.
"You're dead," she said, breathless, hands shaking.
He grinned like he'd just won something priceless. "Worth it."
They shared cotton candy afterward, pink sugar sticking to her fingers, his laughter cutting through the music and chaos around them. They played games they were terrible at—missed easy shots, lost tickets, argued over rules.
Somehow, impossibly, he still won her a stuffed toy.
She pretended not to like it.
She slept with it every night.
At night, they sat on rooftops with their legs dangling over the edge of the city, lights flickering below like a second sky.
"Do you think people are born broken?" Anna asked once, staring at the stars.
Ethan shook his head. "No. I think people are broken by those who leave."
She leaned against him, quiet for a long moment.
"I won't," she said softly.
He kissed the top of her head.
"I know."
##The Day Everything Shattered
The call came at dawn.
Anna answered it half-asleep, voice rough, heart unprepared.
Ruby's voice was calm.
Professional.
Merciless.
"Anna. I'm Ruby. CEO of xxxxx company. I have connections with higher officers."
A pause.
"They've asked me to ask you."
Anna sat up.
"For what?"
"It's classified."
Silence stretched thin.
"You can't tell anyone."
Anna turned her head.
Through the open doorway, she saw Ethan asleep on the sofa. Sunlight brushed his face, warm and soft. Peaceful. Completely unaware that their world was already cracking.
"How long?" she whispered.
"Two years," Ruby replied. "Maybe more."
Anna's fingers trembled around the phone.
"If I refuse?"
Silence.
Then—soft, deliberate, lethal.
"People will die. Especially the ones you care about."
Anna closed her eyes.
-------
No goodbye.
Ethan woke up to an empty apartment.
No note.
No message.
No explanation.
Only the lantern charm, sitting quietly on the table.
Days turned into weeks.
Weeks into months.
He called.
Texted.
Waited.
Nothing.
Then came the threats.
The whispers.
The blood.
Only then did he understand.
Anna hadn't left him.
She had chosen a world that destroyed everything it touched.
Including him.
Ethan picked up the lantern charm, staring at it until his hands shook.
"You promised," he whispered.
The flame inside him went out.
And something darker lit instead.
------
Narrator:
Sigh.
What a heartbreak.
I pity Ethan. Truly.
But maybe—just maybe—
the bond they once shared hasn't completely died.
Maybe the past isn't finished with them yet.
Maybe… in the present—
their story begins again.
In the next chapter…