But there was something about the darkness. The anonymity of it. The way his face was just angles and shadows, impossible to read.
He considered the question for a moment. "Used to."
"What changed?"
"Made a choice. Wasn't easy. But it was mine."
I looked at him then. Really looked. His profile was sharp against the night sky, jaw set, expression unreadable. He looked like a man who'd made hard choices and lived with the consequences.
"How do you know when it's time to choose?"
"You don't. You just do it." He paused. "Waiting for the right moment is usually just an excuse not to act."
The words landed like stones in still water, rippling outward, disturbing everything.
I thought about the wedding. The altar. The vows I'd be saying in four weeks.
The right moment.
Had I been waiting for it? Telling myself that someday, somehow, things would change? That I'd feel what I was supposed to feel, want what I was supposed to want?
Or was I just making excuses?
"You should get some sleep," he said after a while. "The venue walkthrough tomorrow."
"Yes. The walkthrough."
He almost said something else. I saw his mouth open, saw him hesitate. The moment stretched between us, full of something I couldn't name.
Then it passed.
"Good night."
"Good night."
He'd walked away. I stayed on the terrace for another hour, watching the stars wheel overhead, reflecting on choices, excuses, and the burden of a life that wasn't mine.
The terrace felt warmer after that. Less empty.
"You told me to make a choice."
His voice brought me back to the present. "What?"
"On the terrace. That night." I turned to him, and the candlelight highlighted the angles of his face, the same face from my memory. Older now, more familiar, but still those gray eyes. Still that jaw like granite. "You told me to make a choice. That waiting for the right moment was just an excuse."
"I remember."
"I made one."
His throat moved as he swallowed. "I know."
We were close. I hadn't realized how close until now. Our shoulders touched, our faces only inches apart. The candlelight flickered between us, casting shifting shadows.
"Tell me about growing up," he said quietly. "If you want."
So I did.
I told him everything.
