But life, as always, had its twists.
One rainy evening, I returned home to find you standing by the window, a letter in your hands, your expression unreadable.
"What's that?" I asked softly, setting down my coat.
You turned to me, your eyes clouded with uncertainty. "An invitation."
"To what?"
"To go back."
The word hung heavy in the air, its weight pulling at my chest. I swallowed hard, steadying my voice. "You mean… far away?"
You nodded. "The opportunity of a lifetime. An exhibition of my work—our work—in a gallery halfway across the world."
I stared at you, the rain tapping softly against the glass as the silence stretched between us.
"Do you want to go?" I finally asked, my voice small.
You stepped toward me, reaching for my hand. "Not without you."
The tears came then, unbidden, a mixture of relief and fear. I looked up at you, at the face I had loved for so long, and whispered, "You'd take me with you?
You smiled, pressing your forehead against mine. "Wherever you are is where I want to be."
And just like that, the decision was made.