A dimple.
Small, shallow, and tucked into his left cheek like a secret—one I didn’t even know he had, because I’ve never seen him laugh like this before. Not this freely. He always ducks his head or lowers his face when he laughs, but now it’s in full force.
But it isn’t just the dimple that stops me.
It’s his eyes.
They’re always a beautiful shade of green, but now they shimmer with something more. The colors of the sky have found their way into them, turning them softer, brighter, glowing with pale gold and warm rose. It’s like the sunset has curled up inside him. Light illuminates his lashes. Something celestial blinks back at me.
I see a future in those eyes. An unshakable love. My forever.
The lake shimmers. The world holds its breath. And in that perfect, golden moment, I know I’ll never forget how it feels to see Gabe like this.
I stare, memorizing every angle of this version of him, the one wrapped in sunset, unguarded and radiant.
He notices the way I am staring, his laughter tapering into something more sheepish. But he doesn’t look away.
“I didn’t know you had a dimple,” I say softly.
He blinks. “I—what?”
“How have I never seen it before?” I think I’m asking myself more than him, but the more time I spend with him, the more I realize all the glimpses I’ve had of him in the past weren’t the whole picture. I’ve never seen him smile like this before. But piece by piece, he’s coming together before me, like a painting forming with each stroke.
I reach out, the back of my fingers brushing along his cheekbone, then down to trace that little hollow in his cheek with the lightest touch. His breath hitches, but he doesn’t pull back. He just watches me, wide-eyed, sunset still caught in his lashes.
“You’re…” My voice breaks. I try again. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”
A blush blooms across his face, slow and deep, like the sunrise creeping over the horizon. His lips part, but no words come.
And then, finally, he smiles again—there’s a sadness to it now, though.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispers.
“Like what?”
“Like you think I’m enough.” His voice is quiet, but the words are weighted, fear wrapped in confession.
My chest feels too small for all of it—the love, the ache, the helpless, desperate want to make him believe me. I can’t make him, though. I just have to keep showing up. And I will.
“I do,” I say, with as much conviction as I can.
His hand lifts, fingertips brushing my jaw like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch me.
“I can’t always be like this,” he murmurs.
My throat tightens. “What do you mean?”
“Happy.” His gaze drops to my chest, and he looks like it hurts to say the words. “I won’t be able to laugh every day. I won’t be able to smile every day. Some days I…” He swallows with an audible click. I stay still, let him gather the courage to finish, because he’s offering me something important. “Some days I can barely get out of bed.”
I can see tears shining in his eyes, and I want to pull him into my arms, shield him from every harsh thing in the world.
“I know, I can see how hard you try,” I say quietly.
His eyes search mine, almost pleading. “Is that okay?”
I lean in, hand cupping the back of his neck, thumb brushing the soft waves there. His lip trembles as our mouths meet; it’s the gentlest thing I have ever known. A shared hush. Like kissing him is a way of saying thank you for trusting me. For letting me see him. The flicker of something he hasn’t shared with anyone in a long time. His lips move against mine with tender passion, and when I pull back slightly, I see his eyes have fluttered shut, lashes casting soft shadows down his cheeks.
When he opens them again, the sky is still there, glowing quietly in his gaze.
