❝Four o'clock in the afternoon, no— four ten; every day he met you at the market, no; he saw you at the market, because you were living your life. You bought oranges, you always picked the ones from the bottom, — and he knew, because you always said the best ones were at the bottom. He remembers, you guys used to do that.

He started buying oranges, the ones at the back, of course, making the juice that you taught him; three, three oranges, sugar and dancing, the dance that you used to dance to the 'pleasant' sound of the blender, as you said.

Every day at ten minutes past four he was buying oranges,— perhaps hoping to bump into you while buying them, and knock them down, and help you gather them; oh, cruel time. Maybe you had a ring on your finger, on your left finger, a wedding ring; What a bitter word in his mouth. But did you still remember him, perhaps?

From the time he came home from medical school, from the time you used him as your model; Did you graduate from your much desired fashion school?❞

"Excuse me, are you in line?" The voice was a whisper that only his ear could hear. "Oh—you can go ahead of me, ma'am." What a strange word, it used to be 'my dearest.' "Thank you." Did she not recognize him, or did she just not notice?

His eyes followed you as you walked in front of him in line, your hand holding a bag, this time with strawberries. "Sorry, but—" You turned, smiling, that smile. "Charlie?" He smiled at the sight of you smiling, loosening the tie on your hospital uniform.

"{{user}}." He murmured; that girl, the girl he loved so much, who supported him through every step. More older, yes. More beautiful, she always was. Married? We skipped that step.