Author's Note: As recently as two weeks ago, I told a reader that there wasn't going to be a second chapter of Delicacies. Technically, that wasn't a lie! This isn't a second chapter; it's a sequel. There's a big difference.

In all seriousness, this is as unexpected to me as it is to the three of you who cared. I was stuck at home for medical reasons this past weekend, and this story just fell into place. I hope you enjoy it.

Junk Food - A Sequel to Delicacies

Before I can open my eyes, the first thing I am aware of is a momentary memory of what day it is, and my stomach jumps. The feeling jolts me awake. My heart accelerates. Perhaps I could be called greedy, or even foolish, but a very real part of me is hoping for, if not expecting, a surprise when my eyes open.

But there's nothing.

The sun is not quite up yet, but I can tell through the semidarkness that there is no one waiting by the side of my bed and nothing sitting atop the bedside table. Nobody to surprise me, and nothing to unwrap. My heart sinks as I rise from the sheets and sit upright. I feel silly, guilty, shameful. I feel undeserving of all the fortunes that have befallen me in the past year. It is ungrateful of me to expect anything, and I know it.

There are many things for which I should be grateful. A year ago, I opened my heart to the boy I loved, and discovered against all odds that he felt the same way toward me. He didn't have a clue how to show it then, and sometimes he still struggles, but our feelings for each other have been a permanent fixture in my life since that day. I think I am more grateful for that than for anything.

I rub my eyes and vision comes to them. I frown at my empty nightstand. I know I should be more appreciative, because he has done so much for me, but today of all days it would be so nice for a little extra something, you know? None of this ever would have happened if I hadn't taken the first step and set it all in motion. Forget my gratitude, where's his?

I allow myself to fold my arms and pout for only a second before feeling guilty again. He's shown me his gratitude many times, in many ways. He shows me every day, intentional or not. I can only hope that I have shown him my gratitude as well as he has.

And really, is it still a surprise if you expect it? What's the point of that? You're just greedy if you do that. And by extension, I must be, too.

Have I been good enough? Have I shown him well enough how much he means to me? Have I been the girlfriend of his dreams? Have I earned anything special today?

Maybe I haven't. I don't have anything amazing for him, after all. All I have to show my appreciation for him giving me the best year of my life is a handmade card, one that he'll surely appreciate for only a fraction of the time that it took me to make it.

I lean down and find my bag beneath the bed. I rummage through it for but a moment and extract the bedazzled, glittering, wretched thing. For a moment, I'm compelled to tear it to shreds before I realize that would be the worst idea ever and collapse back into my pillow trying to choke down tears.

Ash isn't here. That's the whole problem. He isn't here. If he were here, I never would have had this pathetic, self-defeating train of thought. I would have cuddled up with him in his bunk and waited for the others to wake up, feeling his reassuring warmth and strength, and this would have been another lovely morning and a great beginning for our anniversary day.

But instead, Ash's bunk is empty and Clemont is snoring and everything is ruined forever.

The Pokemon Center showers are often mediocre, but this morning the water was cold and refused to warm up. My hair was a disaster when I woke up, and it remains one despite my best efforts to shiver through five minutes of shampooing it. My pajamas and my towel offer me little warmth as I scurry my way down the hall back to the room, dripping a trail as I go.

When I open the door and see that the lights are still off and Ash is still gone, it makes me miss the warmth of him and his bed even more. For a moment, I consider lying down in it in hopes of finding a trace of his warmth trapped between the empty sheets. I shake the thought off after a moment when I become aware of how cold my wet hair feels against my face. The room is silent now. Bonnie and Clemont are both gone, too. I'm alone.

I hurry over to my bed and begin digging through my bag again, this time for a change of clothes. My card for Ash still lays where I left it, tossed aside in the corner of the bed near the wall. The sight of it causes my mind to revisit my selfish desires for a surprise gift. I send a look of scorn in the direction of the empty nightstand.

But then, to my surprise, the nightstand is no longer empty.

There's a note where there was previously empty space. My heart flutters until I recognize the technical lettering handwriting and realize that the note is not from Ash, but from Clemont.

Clemont's note informs me, in as few words as possible, that he and Bonnie have left to go help Ash with something, and they'll be back later in the day.

I exhale and watch as my loose strands of hair are blown about before my eyes. My face scrunches up and my lips tighten. It looks like I'm on my own today.

That's fine.

Everything's fine.

I'm fine.

I'll make the most of it. It will be a quiet, relaxing day. I can have my own adventure in Lumiose City. I can take my time and enjoy a stop at a cafe, I can window shop, I can do all sorts of things that would be impossible with anyone else, let alone Ash. I'll stay positive. I won't dwell on feeling forgotten or alone. I'll revel in it instead.

Resolving to waste no more time on wishing things were different, I change my clothes, stuff the card back into my bag, and head out the door.

For the abundance of cafés which dot the map of Lumiose city - some seven thousand in all, I've heard - it is amazing how difficult it can be to find one which will serve you a proper cup of coffee. Though their atmosphere is serene and delightful in many ways, I think it may be easier to find gold in one's back yard than to find a cup of coffee which tastes like something other than burnt water.

Today, I'm in luck. The house blend at Café Soleil tastes of honey and hazelnut, and a subdued freeform jazz record plays in the background. I sit at a table near the front window, watching the city pass by as the coffee fills me with the warmth I lacked. Business is slow here this morning. There is only one other patron here, an older gentleman seated at the bar, his face at all times buried either in his newspaper or his croissant. There was a sharp-dressed woman who came in some time ago, purchased a pastry, and left. I'm not sure how long it has been. I'm no science expert, but if you ask me, these cafés are places where time moves differently than in the outside world, like a different dimension. I'm sure Clemont would love to give me a lecture on all the ways in which I'm wrong about that, but he isn't here right now. It's just me, and that's just fine.

Maybe I'm weird, but I find a lot of enjoyment in watching the people pass on the sidewalk and trying to figure out what their lives are like, or where they are going. Some people are much easier to read than others - the postman is the free space on this metaphorical bingo card - and some are much more interesting than others. Seeing the hundredth businessperson with a briefcase walk past is not nearly as interesting as the woman with a violently red scarf and mismatched shoes. My eyes follow her until she's out of sight. I wonder if I'm the only person she's passed today who thought she was strange, or took any notice at all.

It's a dull day on the streets of Lumiose City. Sure, it's a holiday, nominally. That means nothing to the regular people of one of the largest cities in the world, none of whom appear to have acknowledged the special day in any way whatsoever. I begin to wonder if perhaps the day is only special to me because it is the anniversary of the best day of my life when I notice a man with a bouquet of red roses. He must not have forgotten the day, unlike everyone else in the world. I wonder who the recipient of those roses will be. His mother, perhaps, but more likely a special someone. Whoever receives them will know they've been remembered, for sure.

The shallow pool at the bottom of my cup has gone cold. It's looking rather gray outside, I think. My stomach makes a noise, but I know I don't want anything. The second I order a bite to eat, I know I'll regret it. The waitress refills my coffee and I thank her, but I'm not sure I ever look at her. My eyes are elsewhere, lost in the street, out of focus. I hear soft tracking sounds coming from the background, the jazz record telling its audience that it needs to be flipped over, but I seem to be the only one who has noticed.

I take a sip of my replenished coffee and feel an ugly bitterness lingering on the back of my tongue. This cup must be from a new pot, or a different type of beans. It can't be the same variety as the first cup. The first cup was heavenly, but this one is wretched. I clench my brow, and my jaw, as I ride out the aftertaste. I stare at the cup in disbelief. By all appearances, it is identical to the first cup - same color, same aroma. Yet somehow, it has a hateful flavor.

I consider for a moment bothering the waitress for a new cup, but then a sight catches my eye through the window. There is a couple, a young man and woman, perhaps only a year or two older than Ash and I. They are holding hands as they jaunt down the street. My gaze lingers on their trail even after they leave my line of sight.

When my eyes refocus and return to my present setting, they can't help but notice all the empty space around me in this vacant establishment. Right in front of me, in particular. There's another entire half of this table going unused, and a chair with no one in it. I feel small.

With fortuitous timing, the waitress comes by the table. I ask her for the check and pay it immediately. I can't stand to be in here any longer. I gather my bag and my hat as the record's hopeless tracking sounds continue. It has been forgotten.

As I step out the door into the cool air of late winter, a sweet smell from a nearby bakery accosts me and stirs my memory into action. I realize that I never added any sugar to my second cup of coffee.

When I first stepped out into the world this morning, I was concerned that I would stand out in the crowd because I didn't have Ash glued to my arm. Now that I've spent the last couple of hours acquainting myself with the passerby of the city, I know that couldn't be further from the truth. I am the only person in this mass of people who cares that I'm walking with nobody.

I feel foolish again, and I straighten my hat atop my head. How is it that I withstood years of daydreaming about meeting Ash again and months of traveling with him while hiding my feelings, yet after a year of being with him I'm so flustered by one morning of his absence. It's ridiculous and I know it. I've had more of him in my life than I ever could have dreamed. It isn't even noon yet! The day is still young. There's no need for me to be so bothered by this. There's plenty of time left for Ash and I to spend together.

I know him. He's not hiding from me on purpose. He would never do that. He wouldn't punish me for some undisclosed transgression. He isn't vengeful. Wherever he is, whatever he's doing, he has his best intentions at heart, because that's how he always is. That's Ash. He has no idea that I'm so anxious, and he'll feel awful when he learns that he caused me to feel like this. Me feeling bad is going to cause him to feel bad, and it's all because I couldn't be patient today.

Perhaps patience isn't the key, though. I wince as I realize the obvious cause of all this. We never talked about what we wanted to do for our anniversary. No specifics, anyway. We both agreed that it would be fun to come back to Lumiose City. We recognized that we had plenty of time between Ash winning his final Kalos badge and when the league tournament is due to begin, so we decided to use some of that time to come back here. Beyond that, though, we never agreed to anything, let alone discussed it.

I should have brought it up. I should have forced the issue. I hate doing that, but I know that the only way to make your voice heard is to speak up, even when it's uncomfortable - especially when it's uncomfortable, in fact. I wouldn't be here if I hadn't found the courage to go through with the most stressful day of my life. My current situation wasn't caused because I was uncomfortable and wouldn't speak up, though. I just kind of... expected it? I don't know. I wish I knew what I wanted. Other than Ash, of course.

What would my ideal anniversary day have looked like? I can't believe I haven't thought about this before, but as my mind begins turning, I know it's true. I never communicated what I wanted to Ash because I never thought about it in the first place. It was like I expected him to read my mind, and expecting your partner to read your mind is pretty much the first item on the list of things not to do in a relationship. It's especially foolish when you don't have your mind made up to be read.

And of course, there's the matter that Ash is the least perceptive person I have ever known, at least when it comes to emotions. He's a genius trainer, but a moron of a boyfriend. Sometimes.

Like right now.

I let out an indignant huff as I turn into the shopping district. I shouldn't be mad at him. I know I shouldn't be mad at him. It's not his fault. It's mine. I never talked to him about what I wanted out of this day, and he had no way of knowing. When he sees how upset I've been about this, he's going to feel so much remorse and he'll apologize and swear to make it up to me and I'll have no way of convincing him that he shouldn't feel bad because it was all my fault. I don't deserve him.

I see a shop up ahead that I know he and I visited last year on our "date" before we watched the sunset at Prism Tower, and I feel compelled to go in. I remember this one in particular as being the shop where Ash stacked about twenty hats on his head at once. I have no doubt he would try it again if he were here with me. I stop at the glass storefront and peer inside. It looks very much as I remember it. I take off my hat and compare it to some of the other hats on display in the window, but then I see it.

My hair. There's no hiding it. It looks much worse than when I last saw it in the mirror at the Pokemon Center. I decide to upgrade it from a disaster to a war crime.

At once, I jam my hat back onto my head and decide against going into the store. If they wouldn't have kicked me out for recognizing me as the girl with the boyfriend who tried on the towering pillar of hats, they definitely would have kicked me out for my bad hair day. I hurry away and hope that nobody in the store saw anything.

Before I come to my senses, I've stopped in front of a wedding-themed store. I avert my eyes when I realize I'm gawking at a wedding gown. I perish the thought. Ash and I are committed to each other, without a doubt, but daydreaming of a wedding is presumptuous and I know it. I turn to walk away, but then something stops me. The embarrassment I feel for being so hasty is crowded out by a different, devious voice.

Why not stare at the wedding dress and dream of what I want? Not dreaming is what stranded me all by myself today. And besides, Ash wouldn't understand the subtext even if he were here. He would be more likely to go inside and see if there were any hats to try on than to infer anything about my desires.

I sigh at the thought. My desires. What are they, anyway? I focused on Ash for so long that I feel like I haven't had time to add anything else to the list. Even right now, as I wander the streets alone and get lost in my thoughts, what I want most is for him to be here with me. It all has to do with him. Everything does.

Sometimes, it's hard to tell where he ends and I begin.

If I begin at all.

I look around several times and feel lost, claustrophobic in a sudden mass of people. Determined to be alone no longer, I release Braixen from her Pokeball. Even when I am unsure, Braixen is resolute. Her fiery light guides me. As if she could read my mind, she shows me the way out of the throng of shoppers and into the open spaces of the park.

For a moment, I smirk at the thought that I was so accusatory of Ash being unable to read my mind, yet Braixen was capable of doing it - until I remember that Braixen evolve into a Psychic-type.

There's an ice cream stand up ahead on the path. The sun looms high above the Lumiose City skyline. It must be past midday. I feel the beginnings of fatigue in my feet, and I know just what I need to do. I walk up to the ice cream stand and order.

Nothing too extravagant - just a single scoop of vanilla in a cup - but plenty to keep me satisfied until later. Later, when... something will happen. Should happen. Maybe will happen. Anything?

Oh, I don't know. I don't have a clue what's going on and I haven't all day. Nobody has talked to me!

Is having this ice cream a good idea? What if Ash is planning to get some with me later and he hasn't told me? Then what? I just go with him and make things awkward as I watch him eat his?

That's stupid. This is all stupid. He isn't planning anything and I know it. He needed Clemont's help to work on teaching Pikachu a new move or something and I bet he'll show it to me this evening and expect me to be impressed by it.

I plop down on an empty bench. I take a bite, a single spoonful of my ice cream. It's delicious and I hate it. It's savory and subtle and gentle and subdued and it reminds me of all the things that Ash is and isn't. He makes my life better on a daily basis just by being in it - but today he isn't. He does everything to the best of his potential, be that trying to improve our relationship or forgetting about my feelings entirely. And let's be honest - his potential for understanding romance is remedial, most of the time.

I take another bite. I hate myself for doing this. I hate that I am doing this to myself. My mind is consuming itself over nothing and I can't make it stop.

Another bite. I see an adorable couple at the ice cream stand. Their smiles are so sweet that it makes me sick.

There's another couple walking in my direction from down the lane. They're hand in hand, chatting away, not a care in the world. My anxieties are eating me alive while all these happy and oblivious people surround me.

I raise the spoon for another bite. My hand shakes, more and more as it gets closer to my mouth. I barely get the spoon in as tears fill my eyes. My body rejects the ice cream as it melts in my mouth. I gag. I see the approaching couple looking first alarmed, and then disgusted as I find myself forced to spit it out on the grass through choked sobs.

Why is this happening to me?

I looked ghastly when I made it back to the Pokemon Center. Braixen led me back. I couldn't tell you how I got here. I ducked through the crowds and locked myself in the nearest bathroom, and that's where I find myself now, trying to repair the damage.

It's incredible how tears can cause a person to evaluate a face so differently. Right now, mine is a flushed shade of red, around the eyes most of all. I have black streaks of mascara streaming down my cheeks. I pull the crime against humanity that is my hair today up and above my head, tying it back. There is nothing to be done with it. I'm beautiful, and I know it. I can see it through the ugliness of the ruined makeup and swollen eyelids. I've always known it.

I wish I understood why, but there is something calming, so serene about how I see myself right now. I feel a weight lifting from me. Braixen can sense it. I feel her warmth drawing closer. It feels good.

I take a towel from a nearby rack and dampen it under the faucet. I rub it against my face and watch as my makeup melts away. It surprises me, but when I catch myself in the mirror, with my hair tied back and no makeup on, I feel certain that this is the best I've looked all day.

I discard the used towel, take a few deep breaths, and hold Braixen close. I thank her for helping me so much. I don't know where I would be without her.

Hoping that I'm ready to face the world again, I recall Braixen to her ball and exit the bathroom. It's only a short walk back to our room.

When I get there, I find much unchanged from this morning. This time, there's another note on my nightstand, again from Clemont. Once again using as few words as possible, he tells me that Ash is in the Pokemon Center's kitchen and I can find him there.

The words make my heart skip a beat.

The kitchen? Ash would never be doing anything in the kitchen. He's a hopeless chef! Unless...

What if he's trying to make something for me?

The kitchen in this very Pokemon Center is where I prepared crepes and macarons for him last year.

Clutching the note like a lifeline, I scurry out of the room and down the hall. I remember the location of the kitchen as if it were yesterday. I planned for that day as if my life depended on it.

I burst through the swinging doors and then stop in my tracks.

"What are we gonna do now?"

I have just enough time before Ash and Pikachu's heads both pivot in my direction to see the two of them lamenting above the saddest, flattest soufflé I have ever seen.

"Serena!"

"Ash?"

We all freeze. I can tell that I've intruded upon something that I was never meant to see.

"I wasn't expecting you so soon!" says Ash. "It's not ready yet."

Pikachu shakes his head and utters a few words of condolence, and I take my first, tentative steps into the room. The kitchen is a captivating disaster. Cooking mishaps in cartoons often result in messes less intimidating than this one. Flour covers every surface within ten feet of where Ash stands. A pile of used and well-soiled bowls fills the sink and towers above it. The room reeks of burned bread. Whatever has taken place here today has been an unmitigated disaster from start to finish.

I approach the ruined soufflé and see thin but unmistakable smoke emanating from it.

"...and it might not ever be ready," says Ash. He lets his hands slump to his sides. I can't recall seeing him look so defeated ever before.

I'm speechless. I look around the room again. Through another doorway, I can see a table by a window. A candlelit table set for two. It's the same table overlooking the river where we shared breakfast a year ago.

I approach it. I can hear Ash following me, but he's making no attempt to stop me. Beside one of the plates is a bouquet of a dozen red roses. As if it were as delicate as a newborn, I reach down and pick it up.

I whimper as I feel the weight of the roses in my hands. They're real. This is all real. This isn't a dream. This is why Ash was absent all day. He was trying to recreate for me how everything began a year ago. All of my worries of being forgotten were for nothing. Every single bit of this mess, every last ounce of effort put into this display, and every thought about how to do it - it was all for me.

"I'm sorry I don't have it all ready," says Ash. "Pikachu and I worked all day and tried our best, but we couldn't get anything to work. Clemont tried to show us how it's done, but I just couldn't get the hang of it."

I spin around to face him. I can tell he's surprised. I'm giggling, hiding my blushing face behind the bouquet. I'm not surprised at all. This is how it always is. This is the way I always feel when he tries to do something special for me.

We stare at each other for some time without a word, with me giggling and him looking stunned.

"Serena?"

"Come here," I say.

He takes a few steps toward me. I meet him more than halfway and wrap my arms around him in a crushing hug. The bouquet falls to the floor as I kiss him with so much force that I think I might fall over if I don't hold onto him for balance.

He looks astonished when I pull away.

"You aren't mad?" he says.

"Of course I'm not!" I say.

"But... I ruined everything! This place is a mess! I destroyed our dinner!"

"You didn't ruin anything," I say. "You did something very right."

"Are you serious?" he says. "That soufflé doesn't look anything like the picture in the cookbook."

I snort with laughter, and I cover my face as I try to hold it back. Based on what I saw in the kitchen, I think that Pikachu would have had a better chance of replicating the recipe, despite not being able to read.

I can't help it. I start laughing in earnest. I can see that Ash is embarrassed, and he reaches down to pick up the bouquet.

"You're laughing!" he says. He looks hurt. I shake my head and approach him again, taking back the bouquet.

"I'm laughing because this is the happiest I've been all day!" I say. "Maybe the happiest I've been in a long time. You have no idea how much this means to me."

I see the expression on his face soften.

"I don't care at all that the soufflé is ruined," I say. "This is exactly what I wanted. This is wonderful."

I kiss him again.

"Thank you."

By the time we finished cleaning the kitchen, the sun was down. Bonnie and Clemont, I learned, had long since abandoned their attempt to help Ash and instead gone out to eat, attempting to get ahead of the rush that was certain to come tonight. Ash and I, on the other hand, were much too late to have any hope of getting seated anywhere.

So instead, we raided the vending machine in the Pokemon Center lobby.

Now, we're cuddled up on one of the sofas in the recreation room, our impressive haul of snacks strewn about on the floor before us. Ash is flipping through channels on the television. I ask him to stop when he lands on a classic romance movie I remember seeing years ago, one of those old-timey, black-and-white films in which people don't seem to do anything other than talk to each other, and everyone speaks in a strange, melodramatic way. It feels very silent and still compared to the speed at which life operates today.

I can see right away how bored with it Ash is. I know that every moment he spends watching it is one that he spent trying to please me. He still has no idea how happy he has made me today, nor how sad he made me.

I hear a loud crinkling noise and see him compressing an empty wrapper into a ball in his hands.

"Could ya pass the popato chisps?" he says, slurring through a full mouth.

My revulsion at his garbage disposal of an open mouth is overcome by how ridiculous he sounds, and I oblige him, giggling.

"Hmm, let's see," I say, placing a thoughtful finger up to my lips. "No, I don't think I see any popato chisps here. Sorry!"

He pouts at me, and I roll my eyes and pop another cookie into my mouth. It tastes amazing and awful at the same time, the joy and despair of something so sweet that you know will only hurt you in the end - junk food.

I see Ash looking around for another bag. Before he can get up, I toss him what he was looking for.

"Thanks," he says.

"I was just messing with you," I say.

"I know. It's really cute when you do that."

His words make my stomach flutter. He's told me things like this a hundred times in the past year, yet I still melt every time he does.

"You're cute when you try to talk with your mouth full and your words come out like mush," I say. "And by cute, I mean disgusting."

I stick my tongue out at him and wink. He rolls his eyes.

"I know I shouldn't do that," he says. "I'll try to remember next time."

"Thank you."

Ash turns his eyes to the television screen. I can see the gears turning in his head as he tries to turn his disinterest in the film into interest in me.

"What is this movie, anyway?" he says.

"It's a classic," I say, "about two lost lovers who meet again in a faraway country."

"Do you like it?" he asks.

"I do," I say. "I saw it when I was younger and it stuck with me. It kind of reminds me of us."

"It does?"

"It reminds me of how we met again, years later, in a country far away from where we first met."

"Yeah, I guess that is like us," he says. "But we weren't, uh, lovers back then, though."

"We weren't," I say, "but it's still really similar, don't you think?"

Ash nods. I can hear him thinking.

"Yeah," he says. "That's pretty cool."

I smile. He's trying so hard. I know he would rather be watching any cartoon or action movie, but he's trying so hard to be present with me in this moment, just like he tried so hard to cook for me like I did for him.

I push some empty wrappers out of the way and get close to him. I cuddle up to him with my head on his shoulder. He puts his arm around my waist and pulls me closer.

"I appreciate you," I say.

He gives me a strange look.

"I... appreciate you, too," he says, with some hesitation.

"You always make me feel better, just by being here. Just by being you."

"Were you feeling bad before I was with you today?" he says.

I exhale sharply. The way he put it sounds so casual. It's such an understatement.

"I was having a really bad day until I came into the kitchen and saw what you were doing," I say.

"You were? What was wrong?"

"Everything," I say. "Everything was wrong. "When I woke up this morning and saw you weren't there, I thought you had forgotten what day it was. I thought you had forgotten about... me."

Ash looks astonished.

"No, I would never!" he says. "There's no way I would have forgotten about today! And I had Clemont leave you that note so you would know what I was doing!"

"All Clemont's note said was that he and Bonnie were busy helping you with something. It didn't say why or what."

Ash grumbles and rubs his eyes in frustration.

"I asked Clemont to explain to you what was going on, but I guess he didn't think those details were important."

I remember Clemont's handwritten note, the meticulous technical lettering, the impersonal tone, and the brevity. As few words as possible, just like every note I've ever seen him write. He's a true engineer at heart. He left out all the context.

I sigh.

"I really wish that note had explained what was going on," I say. "I needed some reassurance. I felt so lonely. I felt like I had been forgotten."

Ash shakes his head.

"No," he says. "I didn't forget you. It was just a mistake."

"I know," I say. "I know now, anyway. At the time, I felt awful because it's a year since I went through with my plan and endured the most nerve-wracking day of my life, and I spent all day feeling anxious and jealous of all the couples I saw and like I wasn't good enough and I didn't deserve you."

I pause for a sniffle. I can feel the emotion welling up in my throat. I swallow it and continue.

"It was terrible. And as soon as I saw you and what you had been doing, I knew that all of my worries were for nothing. You worked so hard for me. So hard."

I'm smiling now, but a tear falls anyway.

"I love you so much," I say.

"I love you, too," he says.

I reach into my bag and hand him my handmade card. His eyes light up like fireworks. He runs a hand through my flyaway, unkempt hair. I can see in his eyes that it looks as beautiful to him as it ever has.

Everything is still perfect.