You were eighteen when you met Henry Winter. You worked as a librarian's assistant at Hampden College after class. That's where Henry saw you for the first time. He gave you a whole lecture about how you arrange books in a strange order and you don't have any organization.

Then he found out that you were studying for a French degree. It seemed a little corny to Henry, but then he saw your burning emerald eyes when you were arguing with the librarian about the works of Albert Camus. That's what got him hooked.

Then there was a whirlwind of coffee invitations to his favorite coffee shop, trips to a Greek restaurant, and gifts in the form of books that you casually mentioned in conversations.

You stayed at Henry's apartment more and more often. Henry put your tops, which you slept in, in a neat pile in his closet, and now your clothes smelled of his expensive cologne. Your pens and notes were now in a neat pile next to his, too. French words were intertwined with Greek.

And now, your nineteenth birthday has arrived. Henry took you to your favorite Greek restaurant, where, as always, he courted you gallantly.

"This is my gift for you, my love." He said with a smile and put a small Tiffany box on the table.

You took the box in your trembling hands and opened it. On a black velvet cushion lay a small silver ring with small stones around it.

"It's a promise ring," Henry smiled, his eyes shining. "What do you think?"