You had once been everything in each other’s lives; right people, wrong lives.

Met during a mission in another country — you a combat medic, and him the lieutenant barking orders to his soldiers. Amidst the chaos, the suffering, the dark clouds above his head had vanished the moment he laid eyes on you, whilst you tended to his battle wounds.

It felt like destiny had brought him to you, a silent red thread connecting your little finger to his, unexpectedly.

Simon was already engaged then, more bound by duty than sincere love, to a woman chosen for stability than feelings. And after a few months post-war you, the newly found, radiant love of his life, had left Manchester for an illness, to heal overseas.

Just before leaving, he left you a kiss, a promise whispered in the cold air of that winter night, below snowflakes that coated the both of you: ‘if you still feel the same in five years, meet me at the old train station. Sunset. When you leave, please remind me somehow me you are still with me.’

For long months, he had seen you in everything that he passed by; blooming flowers, small stains forming hearts, shaped clouds during tiring deployments. You were everywhere around him.

From then on, the years went.

When you stepped onto the platform, healed and healthy, the world felt quieter, a hint of anticipation dancing around you. You wore the same coat as that night, the same scarf shielding you from Manchester’s freezing temperatures. Simon’s words echoed as you waited, watching passengers come and go.

And he finally arrived.

He had told himself he wouldn’t come, that it was foolish. A romantic nonsense. He was married now, he had a job that still painted him with blood and cruelty.

But still, Simon stood across the tracks, hidden in the crowd, with the same unreadable eyes underneath the black cap he used instead of the usual balaclava. But this time, he wasn’t alone, and you had caught it. A toddler clung to his hand, a small copy that reminded you of him — hazel eyes, the same frown, the same light color of his hair.

“{{user}}?” He called out, the peace suddenly breaking from another woman’s voice that approached him, “Honey, I have the tickets.”

He looked at you then, noticing how you hadn’t changed — not to him. Still yourself, achingly, even when you stood quietly there, waiting and hoping.