The first time he saw you, you were standing in the middle of a bustling street market, eyes dancing with excitement as you admired the delicate trinkets on display. There was something about the way you moved, the way your laughter blended seamlessly with the lively chatter around you, that made him pause

He had known you for a while, long enough to memorize the way your lips quirked up when you were teasing him or how you’d bite the inside of your cheek when deep in thought. But that day, watching you under the golden glow of the festival lights, he knew. He knew he wanted to leave a piece of himself with you, something that would remind you of him even when he wasn’t by your side

So he bought the little plushie, a round apple with a hilariously grumpy expression. It wasn’t expensive, nor was it particularly extravagant, but it felt right

He handed it to you without much thought, pushing it into your hands with a smirk "So you won’t forget me," he said, trying to sound nonchalant, though his fingers lingered just a little longer than necessary

You blinked at it, then at him, before bursting into laughter "You’re giving me a frowning apple?" you teased, holding it up between you

"It reminded me of you," he shot back, grinning

You clutched it to your chest, still giggling. "Well, then I’ll take good care of it."

And you did

Through the years, the little plushie never left your side. It sat on your desk during long study nights, traveled with you on trips where distance threatened to pull you apart, and rested beside your pillow when you needed comfort. It became a quiet, constant reminder of him, of your shared laughter, your unspoken promises, and the way he had always been there

And then, one day, he saw it again. But this time, it wasn’t just in your hands. It was in the tiny grasp of someone else

Your baby, curled up in his arms, was hugging that same grumpy apple plushie, small fingers gripping it tightly as if it had always belonged there