They lay side by side on the grass for hours, silently watching the clouds drift by. Roselle turned her head to look at Stephen, her heart swelling with a quiet kind of joy just being near him. She reached out with her left hand, gently brushing her fingers along the face of the boy she loved. He was more than just handsome-there was something about him, something that made her feel safe, seen, understood. His azure eyes met hers, filled with affection, and in a soft voice, she whispered, "Make love to me."
Stephen blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Rose.." he began, his voice gentle but firm. "You know I can't. Let's wait until our wedding night. I want it to be special," he said, his fingers tracing playful patterns on her cheek as if to soothe the yearning in her words.
Roselle frowned slightly, her gaze never leaving his. She loved everything about him, from the depth of his blue eyes to the way his thick eyebrows framed his face, adding to his charm. "I'm 20, Stephen," she murmured, her voice tinged with frustration. "I know what I want. Being 20 and a virgin... it sounds strange to my friends. They think you don't love me, that you haven't laid with me because of that." Her eyes searched his, seeking some kind of reassurance.
Stephen suppressed a chuckle, knowing she wouldn't appreciate it. He had learned over time that Roselle took certain things very seriously, and laughter wasn't always welcome. But the idea of anyone doubting his love for her felt almost absurd.
He leaned in closer, his voice warm and steady. "I love you with every part of me, Rose. Believe me, they're just jealous." He couldn't help it-laughter escaped him, light and genuine.
Her frown deepened, her lips pressing together. "What's funny?" she asked, clearly not amused.
In response, Stephen kissed her cheek softly, his lips lingering just long enough to make her feel the sincerity in his touch.
"I'm sorry, okay?" he said, flashing that smile, the one that always made her heart skip. She couldn't help but stare at him-those ruby lips, that boyish grin. She wanted to kiss him, to lose herself in him, again and again.
"I love you, Rose. I really do."" His voice was quieter now, a hint of emotion slipping through. As he looked at her, memories flooded back-the first time he saw her two years ago, sitting on that bench by the roadside with a book in her hand, waiting for the bus. Her curly hair had framed her delicate face, her eyes soft and curious as they skimmed the pages. He had fallen for her then, head over heels, and he never looked back.
Now, staring at the same girl he had fallen for, Stephen felt that same rush of love, as though time had never moved, as if she were still that girl on the bench, and he was still the boy who couldn't believe his luck.
Roselle nestled closer to Stephen, breathing in the comforting, familiar scent of his clothes. There was something grounding about being in his arms, as if the world outside didn't exist when she was with him. "How's your grandma?" she asked softly. She had visited his house just days ago to see Mrs. Jones, who had fallen ill. The memory of meeting her for the first time two years ago flashed in her mind-how nervous she'd been, how tenderly Stephen had introduced her to the woman who meant so much to him.
Mrs. Jones had been warm and welcoming from the very beginning, insisting Roselle stay for dinner and preparing what she called her "special meal." Even back then, Mrs. Jones had seen what Roselle and Stephen were only just discovering-that the way he looked at her, with eyes full of unspoken love, meant something far deeper. Roselle remembered that day fondly, how Stephen had driven her home afterward and kissed her for the first time in his car. It wasn't just any kiss-it was the kind of kiss that made her feel like her soul had met his.
"She's doing better," Stephen replied, his voice gentle. "I took her to the clinic yesterday. The doctor gave her some new medication and advice. She's strong, Rose. She'll pull through." As he spoke, he leaned over her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch tender and protective.
Roselle opened her mouth to say something else, but before she could finish, Stephen gently placed his finger on her lips. "Shh..." he whispered, his voice a soft caress. "Let's talk about us. Just us.
No one else."
The world around them seemed to conspire in their favor. The breeze was gentle, the sun warm but not harsh, the kind of day that felt like a gift. Nature itself seemed to approve of their love, and Roselle's heart swelled at the thought.
She felt as though her heart might burst from the happiness swelling inside her. Everything about this moment-the way Stephen looked at her, the softness in his voice, the feel of his lips-made her feel cherished. She couldn't imagine a life without him. On the rare days she didn't see him, her mood soured, and everything felt off. He was her center, her calm. How could anyone think she'd ever let him go?
Even after all this time, Roselle couldn't explain why she still felt the same flutter in her chest she'd felt the very first time he said, "Hey, beautiful." His presence was intoxicating. Everything about him exuded passion, desire, and love-a love so deep that she longed to lose herself in it, to give and receive it completely. She knew she wasn't the only one to feel that pull. She saw the way other girls looked at him, yearning for the affection that was hers.
"Us?" Roselle teased, even though she knew exactly what he meant.
Stephen nodded, his fingers trailing along her face as she lay on the grass. " want our first child to be a girl," he murmured, his voice low and full of promise. "As beautiful as you... after we get married."
Roselle felt his hand rest lightly on her chest, right where the necklace he'd given her lay, its small pendant pressing against her skin. She didn't flinch, her heart steady, as if this moment had always been waiting for them. "And if it's a boy?" she asked, her breath catching in her throat, his touch sending a warmth through her body that made her feel alive in a way nothing else did.
Stephen smiled softly. " don't care, as long as our child comes from you." His hand drifted down to rest on her stomach, the gesture full of meaning, of all the dreams they hadn't yet spoken aloud.
For a few moments, they simply gazed into each other's eyes, the silence between them heavy with unspoken promises. Stephen took her hands in his, his voice thick with emotion. "I can't wait for the day I make you my wife, Rose. That will be the best day of my life"
Roselle swallowed, her throat tightening with the weight of her feelings. "And I'll gladly say, 'I do," she whispered. She meant it with every fiber of her being. She didn't just want a future with Stephen-she needed it. He was her everything.
'I just want to be with you forever. Only you," Stephen whispered as he leaned in, their lips meeting in a kiss that felt more like a vow. It was soft, yet filled with the kind of intensity that spoke of a love that could last lifetimes. When their lips finally parted, Roselle laid her head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, knowing that it beat for her.
"If it's not you," she whispered, her voice full of sincerity, "then it's no one else." And in that moment, she knew without a doubt that she could never imagine her life without him by her side.
—-
Stephen smiled softly, lost in the memory of that day on the green grass, when he and Roselle had talked about their future until the sun dipped below the horizon. He could still feel the warmth of the moment-the way her laughter filled the air, the tenderness in her eyes as they dreamt of what was to come. He hadn't wanted to leave her side, not even for a second. In his heart, he knew he wanted her in his arms forever.
"Stephen." His name echoed through his thoughts, snapping him back to the present. He glanced toward the glass door, where his friend Michael stood, watching him with an amused, almost boyish grin. Stephen hadn't realized how long he'd been lost in thought. Setting his glass of water on the table, he walked over to let Michael in.
Michael rolled his eves as he entered the living room, his expression playful but with a hint of curiosity. The white curtains fluttered gently, and the paintings on the walls gave the space a quiet charm. "What's going on in your mind?" Michael asked, sinking into the soft cushions of the couch.
Stephen didn't answer right away. Instead, he strolled to the fridge to get a drink, a knowing smile playing on his lips. The memory of Roselle lingered, her face vivid in his mind. He wouldn't forget that day. How could he?
"Seriously, bro, I was standing out there forever," Michael's voice broke through, mock frustration lacing his tone. He brushed a stray lock of hair from his face, his expression feigning annoyance.
Stephen chuckled, shaking his head. "Don't lie, man. I checked the door not long ago, and you weren't there. Stop exaggerating," he said, locking eyes with Michael, who shrugged and looked away, not quite able to hide the smirk tugging at his lips.
"Okay, fine, but it still felt like forever," Michael grumbled, gulping down the cold drink Stephen had set out for him. His movements were quick, almost impatient, as if something was pressing on his mind.
Stephen's face softened as he picked up his phone from the table, the memory of Roselle still lingering in his heart. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to me, Mike," he said, his voice almost dreamy, like he was speaking a truth so deeply etched inside him that nothing could change it.
Michael bit his lower lip, his eyes clouding for a moment. "You've said that so many times," he replied, his tone light but edged with something Stephen couldn't quite place.
"I'm in love," Stephen beamed, the kind of smile that reached his eyes, making him look like a kid with a secret too wonderful to contain.
Michael repeated himself, though more gently this time, "You've said that so many times, Stephen." He looked at his friend, knowing how deeply Stephen was invested in Roselle. A small prayer flickered in Michael's mind, hoping that his friend wouldn't get hurt. Love, as beautiful as it was, had a way of turning fragile, and Michael had seen enough of the world to know that even the strongest bonds could sometimes break.
The last time Michael had seen Roselle, Stephen had been wrapped around her, his arms firmly holding her waist as if he couldn't bear to let her go. Her rosy cheeks had glowed as she giggled, leaning into his embrace, her laughter light and carefree. Michael had stood at a distance, watching, waiting for them to finish their romantic moment so Stephen could finally walk home with him. Even then, he couldn't help but feel a pang of worry, hoping that this love, so all-encompassing for Stephen, wouldn't one day leave him shattered.
"I looked for you yesterday. Didn't Grandma tell you? Where is she?" Michael's eyes swept over the corners of the room before landing back on Stephen.
"In her room, probably sleeping," Stephen answered, his voice calm but distant.
Ever since his mother died, his grandmother had been his anchor, stepping in to raise him from the age of ten. She was the only family he had left, the only person he could call home. The thought of losing her was unbearable. Stephen had prayed for her recovery every night, knowing that if she left him, it would leave a hole in his heart too deep to ever truly heal.
Michael, sensing the weight of his thoughts, stayed quiet. He stared at Stephen intently, almost as if trying to peer into his soul. The silence stretched between them until Stephen smiled, recognizing the look on his friend's face.
"You're about to ask where I was yesterday, aren't you?" Stephen sighed, his smile faint.
Michael, with his bright orange hair and ever-inquisitive nature, nodded. "Of course. Where were you?"
Stephen exhaled, leaning back on the couch. "Why do you care?"
"Come on, man. Why don't you ever tell me anything anymore?" Michael stood, crossing his arms as he walked closer, wearing his typical look of mock frustration. His silk sweater and black pants gave him a casual, yet polished look, a silver chain hanging over his chest.
Stephen chuckled, shaking his head. "Because you've got a big mouth, that's why."
Michael put a hand to his chest in exaggerated disbelief. "Wow, I can't believe you said that to my face! It's one thing to talk behind my back," he teased before his tone shifted slightly. "But seriously, you didn't pick up your calls. Let me guess-you were with her." He pointed accusingly, but with a knowing grin.
Michael knew Stephen well enough by now. Whenever Stephen was with Roselle, it was like the rest of the world disappeared. Except, of course, when something was really important-but how could Stephen have known it was important if he never answered? Michael watched as Stephen grabbed his laptop and settled down, crossing his legs.
"I called because it was important." Michael insisted, but Stephen didn't look convinced.
"Nope. I don't believe you," Stephen said, glancing at him briefly before returning his focus to the numbers on the screen. He was always more at ease when he was working, his thoughts ordered, his body relaxed.
"Bite your tongue," Michael retorted, rolling his eyes.
Stephen sighed. "Alright, fine. What was so important?" His eyes stayed glued to the laptop, though his voice softened slightly, giving in to his friend's persistence.
Michael spread his arms wide, a grin spreading across his face. "Lisa is back!"
Stephen's brow furrowed as he looked up.
"Lisa? What Lisa?"
"Lisabeth," Michael clarified, a spark of excitement in his voice. "The girl who crushed on you all through high school. Daughter of Bruce Springsteen. You remember her?"
The name tugged at a distant memory, a flash of a brown-eyed girl who always seemed nervous around him, fumbling over her words whenever she tried to confess something. Back in high school, it had been obvious to everyone, including Stephen, that she harbored a crush. But that was years ago. "I thought she moved to London, Stephen said, narrowing his eyes.
"She did, but she's back now. Just got into town." Michael watched Stephen closely, wondering what his reaction would be. After all, Lisabeth wasn't just any girl; she had always lingered on the edge of Stephen's life, a memory of what could've been.
Stephen's attention wavered, his gaze drifting from the screen back to Michael. "When did she get back?"
Michael settled beside Stephen, a satisfied grin playing on his lips. "Yesterday."
Stephen paused, locking eyes with him for a moment before speaking, "Really? That was what was so important?" His voice carried a mixture of disbelief and mild amusement. He wasn't surprised -Michael rarely brought up anything truly significant.
Michael, never one to be fazed by Stephen's teasing, quickly added, "Not just that. She asked about vou."
Stephen raised an eyebrow, but the lack of interest was obvious. His gaze drifted back to the laptop screen. "What did you tell her?"
"I said you were hanging out with friends Michael replied with a shrug, knowing full well Stephen's disinterest in the conversation. But he pressed on. After all, Lisabeth's enthusiasm had caught even him off guard. She had approached him, all smiles, eager for news of Stephen as if years hadn't passed since she left for London.
Stephen stopped typing, his fingers hovering over the keys as he sighed, "I've only got you and John as friends, Mike. And John hasn't set foot here since he left for Paris five years ago. Lisabeth probably saw right through your lie."
Michael grinned, quick to respond. "She gave me something for you, though. It's kind of crazy that she still has feelings for you." He scratched his head, remembering the gift tucked away on his shelf, forgotten in his haste.
"I have a girlfriend, Mike." Stephen's tone was firm, reminding him of the truth Michael seemed to be brushing aside.
Michael shrugged, leaning back in the chair. "So? Having a girlfriend doesn't mean you can't receive a gift. It's harmless. You're not cheating by accepting something from an admirer."
"I don't want it." Stephen's voice was final as he shook his head. "You can keep it."
Michael raised an eyebrow, his hands fidgeting as he scratched his brow. "You don't even know what it is."
"I don't need to know," Stephen replied, irritation creeping into his tone. He was frustrated -not just with the distraction from his work, but with the idea of dragging up a past he had long moved on from.
Michael stood from the couch, pacing a little as if still trying to convince him. "Come on, you're good-looking, Stephen. Why not take advantage of the attention? It's flattering!"
But Stephen shook his head again, more resolute than before. "That's not who I am, Mike. I'm with Roselle. I don't need 'opportunities' from anyone else."
Michael stuffed his hands into his pockets, wandering over to the portraits on the wall, staring at them for what seemed like the hundredth time. "You know, Lisa's really pretty," he muttered, trying one last push.
Stephen shot him a look, the weight of it enough to silence him. Michael raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, I'll drop it. But at least promise me one thing-if you ever run into Lisabeth, just tell her you got the package."
"I think about it" Stephen murmured, his voice low and distracted. As he turned back to the laptop, his thoughts drifted, slipping away from Michael's chatter. They carried him to Roselle-the sound of her laugh, the warmth of her smile.
For a moment, everything else faded. All that remained was the memory of her, of them together, and the undeniable certainty that she was the only future he wanted.