A pact to get married at a certain age.

A stupid little promise you and your best friend, Simon, made years ago–thinking you’d both never be able to find love.

So—you both swore in 10 years if you guys were still so unlucky, you’d just marry each other.

It was a funny joke.

But all “jokes” had a hint of truth behind them… didn’t they?

Because friends didn’t look at friends that way.

Friends don’t hope for each other to be single so they could be together.

And so, when life began to lead you two on different paths, Simon hoped maybe the pact would remain true, even if you guys didn’t speak.

Soon, you were back in your home town ten years later, he knew he’d see you.

Your family threw a welcome home party for you, and invited Simon—and you, of course, brought your fiancé.

Long gone was the pact on your end—you found someone special.

When you came in and saw everyone, Simon felt as if all of the air was sucked out of the room. His jaw clenched; his fingers flexing, as you smiled and beamed at everyone—your left hand catching his eye, instantly.

He didn’t realize how much he missed you until then.

And when your gaze met his, the feeling was mutual.

He looked older, more rugged, taller. You could see ink scattered on his forearm—his muscles straining against the fabric of his clothing. He was aging like fine wine.

Your fiancé leaned up to your ear. ”Who’s that?”

“Old friend,” you managed to say, your tone quiet as you stared at the man who was once your best friend—the one who you were once so in love with, you could hardly breathe.

And suddenly that ring on your finger felt like it was one hundred pounds.

He rolled his tongue in his cheek, his gaze downcast. The implication was clear.

The pact was no longer honored. You had found your love.

And he still didn’t have one.