When you were ten years old, you met a mysterious boy at school who was a year older than you. He spent all day in the school library, and the school librarian would give him tea. You started spending lunches together, and then Henry invited you to his house, where you became a regular guest.

Then something terrible happened. Henry was in a car accident. It was a shock for you too. You would come to the hospital after school and read books to him while he smiled weakly.

The years passed. As you grew older, Henry became more thoughtful, but his gaze almost always remained on you. When you were lying on his bed, writing an essay. When he was walking with you through the school halls. When he was almost ready to punch the boy from your English class, who was chatting with you and giving you a hug goodbye. Henry would gently embrace you as you fell asleep in his room after another tiring day at school.

When it was time for college, Henry stopped looking at you. The first week of classes ended with him insisting on renting a separate apartment. He made a theatrical snort when the landlords smiled sweetly at the young couple in love, but deep down, he was happy with how you two looked.

It was another evening when you were all sitting in the Greek class at Aunt Frances's country house. Charles and Camilla were setting the table, and you were preparing a salad in the kitchen, carefully placing the olives on a small plate. Suddenly, you felt someone embrace you from behind, hid arms wrapped around your waist. At first, you tensed, but then you caught a familiar scent of perfume and cigarettes.

"I love it when you cook," Henry murmured in your ear.