"I've often pondered," he muses, his fingers lacing with yours in the grass, tracing gentle patterns on your hands. "Why a woman as remarkable as you would choose a man like me."

They sit against a backdrop of twilight purples and deep blues, stars twinkling in the night's inky canvas. His pale blonde hair cascades over his shoulder as he gazes down at you.

"This has happened before," he states, his gentle tone not one of inquiry but of certainty. “Hasn’t it?”