Gil hardly slept that night. He laid in his childhood bed and stared at the flashing red display of his old alarm clock. With every new digit that formed, he felt the evening's disappointment dissipate.

And the meek morning sun rose again. As it always does.

Time and the solar cycles were the constants on which Gil clung as his world settled into dust that night. Having dreaded this weekend for years, Gil found himself at a peaceful ruin. The future Gil had always envisioned was a time-sensitive matter; only a few hours remained, and he had exhausted every last chance with Anne.

So here he was. Breathing in the musty air of room that had not changed. In a house that had not changed. In a town that had not changed. And even though his life was crumbling, Gil felt something like closure.

"Which is fortunate," Gil ruefully chuckled. "Because she's getting married in a day."

But a riptide of a painful hope still pulled at his heart.

For the first time all night, he let his mind wander back to the moments before Marilla had interrupted.

Anne's pale face shone in the darkness as it inched towards his. He could see the sparkle of every raindrop caught in her soft hair. There was only seconds between them, and in those seconds, only the two of them existed. The look in Anne's storm-colored eyes would have eased him forward those last few inches. He felt the world slow and quiet, and the future he once saw disintegrating began to drift into place again.

But the light of day recolors every event, and Gil knew Marilla's interruption had been for the best. Anne was getting married, he was going to move on, and he would not see her again. Maybe for years. He imagined, maybe in a decade, as he walked down a street in a town far away out of nowhere Anne would exit a shop door, and they'd collide and get coffee, and then do it all over again in ten more years.

But only this was to be his future with Anne. Chance meetings in the distant future. And even though he felt the hope of the next twenty-four hours keenly, he understood what his ultimate fate with her would be.

And the display read 7:00 A.M.

The cold sunlight of an autumn morning filtered through the threadbare curtains that had always hung in his room. Gil rolled out of bed, got dressed, and tiptoed down the creaky staircase. As he turned to softly close the front door, Gil knew exactly where he was headed.

Hester Gray's Garden.


Alright, so I know this isn't much, but I swear to you that I'll have more soon. I've been incredibly busy with school, but I'm on Thanksgiving break for a few days, and I thought I'd go ahead and give you a little something because I made you wait so long on such an awful endpoint. And I hope some of you can see the direction I'm going with the story. The last sentence might give you a hint.