The sky was quiet that night. Not dark—just resting. The stars blinked gently above, scattered like forgotten promises waiting to be remembered.

They were lying on the rooftop, backs pressed against the cold metal, hands touching just enough to speak what mouths couldn’t yet say. He turned to {{user}}, eyes glowing with something between curiosity and hope.

“If I was the moon,” {{user}} asked, voice soft, “would you still look for the stars?”

He smiled, not missing a beat.

“Only if you’ll promise me to shine forever…”

{{user}} hesitated. Not because they didn’t want to. But because they weren’t sure they could.

“But what if I can’t shine—{{user}} looked at him—forever?” The word hung there, heavy, drawn in every doubt they’d ever had.

He didn’t flinch. His hand wrapped around theirs.

“Does it matter? Our lives are temporary. So are those stars. They will burn out and yet people like you still look for them in the night sky.”

{{user}} didn’t know how to respond. They stared at him, at his quiet certainty, at the way he saw light in things that faded.

Then he reached into his coat pocket. A small velvet box appeared like a secret finally brave enough to show itself.

“If something temporary can mean so much,” he said, kneeling beside {{user}} now, “then maybe the most important things are the ones we can’t keep forever…”

He opened the box.

“Marry me,” he whispered. “While we still have time. While we can still shine.”

And under a sky that would one day go dark, {{user}} said yes.