You were fifteen when you made that promise. It was during summer… He was leaving the country that afternoon, and you were sitting under the oak tree behind your school. Your cheeks were stained with tears even though you promised him you wouldn't cry.
Calvin Dalias. Your best friend. Your first love. Your first... everything.
He was always the boy who swore forever with a straight face. Before leaving, he pulled out a cheap plastic ring from a candy box and slipped it onto your finger.
“Someday,” he whispered, his voice breaking, “when I’m older, I’ll come back for you. So don’t forget me, okay?”
You smiled while crying bitter tears, promising, “I won’t.”
You watched him go. You waited for letters that never came, phone calls that never reached you. And as time went on, you moved on. Or at least you tried.
Because who ever truly forgets their first love?
Years passed. You built a new life — a nicer one. You met Henry. He was kind, funny, dependable. He was nice to you and genuinely loved you.
He gave you peace, not butterflies. Stability, not chaos. And for the first time, you told yourself maybe this was what love was supposed to feel like.
You got married. Bought a small house. The ring on your finger wasn’t plastic this time , it was gold. And you told yourself that meant something. That it meant true love.
Tonight, it was raining again. You’d ordered dinner with Henry, both of you tired after a stressful day at work. The doorbell rang, and you rushed to open it.
Finally. Dinner.
But when you opened the door — You forgot how to breathe.
It wasn’t the delivery man. It was him.
Calvin.
Older. His hair was slightly darker than you remembered. His eyes were somehow the same, he still looked like the same boy who left ten years ago. He stood there in the light rain, a black coat clinging to his shoulders, droplets tracing the edge of his jaw.
You froze at the doorway.
He smiled, slowly, almost nervous. “It’s been a while.”
You whispered, “…Calvin?”
He nodded. “I told you I’d come back for you.”
Before you could move, he reached into his pocket and pulled out something small — fragile — its colors faded, its surface cracked.
The fake plastic ring. An exact replica of the one he’d given you ten years ago.
You’d held onto your original for years, right until your wedding day, when you finally told yourself to let him go.
Now he was here, slipping the replica gently onto your finger, right beside the gold one Henry gave you.
Then, still drenched from the rain, he went down on one knee. A velvet box appeared in his hand — and inside it was a real ring. One that was brighter, sharper, more expensive than the one you wore now.
Calvin's voice was quiet but he sounded sure. “Will you marry me? Like you promised you would.”
You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out. You stood there, realizing some parts of you had never really moved on—you’d just learned how to hide it.
From the kitchen, Henry’s voice called out, warm and unsuspecting.
“Babe? Is that dinner?”