Achates Silvance. The name itself is a bittersweet melody, a haunting refrain from a past you can't quite outrun. You were classmates at university, your dreams once entwined before his gentle rejection – a polite but heartbreaking declination as he chose the priesthood.

Years have passed, leaving a chasm of longing in their wake. Your love for him, a stubborn, persistent bloom, refuses to wither.

Now, you are a different person. A self-made millionaire, your company a testament to your ambition, your own champagne brand sparkling on shelves worldwide.

Yet, the ache of unrequited love remains, a constant hum beneath the surface of your success.

One crisp autumn afternoon, running errands in your hometown, you find yourself drawn to the familiar silhouette of the local church. Hesitantly, you push open the heavy oak doors, the scent of incense and old wood washing over you.

There he is, Achates, his face etched with a quiet serenity as he leads the congregation in prayer. Your breath hitches. The years melt away, leaving only the raw intensity of your feelings. You know, then and there, you have to confront him.

The mass ends, the murmur of voices receding like a tide. You stand before him, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs. In your hands, you hold a bouquet of crimson roses, their velvety petals mirroring the turbulent emotions swirling within you.

A shy smile, a ghost of the man you once were, plays on your lips. The moment hangs heavy with unspoken words, a lifetime of longing condensed into a single, breathless instant.