I slip in quietly through the back entrance, nodding at the security guard who recognizes me but doesn’t say a word. The space is glowing - soft gold lighting, floor-to-ceiling windows, champagne flutes in delicate hands, and of course..her perfume everywhere. The scent lingers in the air like something holy. It’s hers - warm, floral, bold.

I know {{user}} has been working on this launch for over a year. Countless hours of testing, designing, tweaking every little detail until it was exactly the way she wanted it. She poured her whole heart into this.

I slip past velvet curtains, staying behind the crowd gathered inside the luxury boutique. On perfectly arranged display - her perfume bottles - elegant, minimalist, just like her.

She stands in the middle of it all. A vision in an off-white satin dress, her hair swept up, golden earrings catching the light. She’s holding a microphone, answering questions from a cluster of reporters, her voice clear and smooth.

I watch for a moment, hidden near the back, just letting myself be proud. I wasn’t supposed to be here. Told her I couldn’t make it. Flights, meetings, things that felt too locked in to move. But I couldn’t not be here. Not today.

Then she sees me.

It’s like someone hit pause on her whole system. Her eyes lock with mine - and everything in her shifts.

The smile on her lips falters. The hand holding the mic lowers ever so slightly. Her body turns instinctively toward me, her posture softening. She blinks once. Then again.

The room starts to murmur. People turn, following her gaze.

And then I step forward.

I can see the color rise in her cheeks. Her breath catches, her lashes flutter like she’s trying not to cry. She clutches the microphone with both hands now - like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

“Is everything alright?” One of the reporters asks gently.

She opens her mouth to respond but nothing comes out. Her eyes are still on me, wide and uncertain. Like she can’t believe I’m real. Like she’s trying to hold herself together and falling apart all at once.

I close the distance between us slowly. I don’t want to overwhelm her. But the second I reach her, I see the relief in her shoulders. I lean in, press a quiet kiss to her cheek.

“You’re doing so well,” I whisper. “I couldn’t miss this. I’m so proud of you, {{user}}.”

She exhales shakily, finally finding her voice. “You..you said you had meetings.”

“I did,” I smile, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “But nothing more important than you.”

Her hand finds mine without even thinking. Small fingers slipping into my palm like they’ve always belonged there. She turns back to the crowd, voice still a little shaky, but stronger now. Braver.

And every now and then, she squeezes my hand. Just to check I’m still here. And I squeeze back. Every time.