Ten years later, Christmas Eve, Times Square. Peter of his high school treasure Sally said on the night of the prom. Ten years later, he appeared in his mind. But instead of Sally, a young girl approaches and wears a crushed truth that will change his life forever.
The music was soft and a gentle violin combined with the steamy laughter of my classmates. Peter ran into the grip in Sally’s hand, his thumb attacking as if he could memorize her touch on her ankles. Her mascara was painted from the crying black stripes and lined up on her red cheeks.
I don’t want to go,” she said, her voice broke.
A romantic couple at a prom | Source: Midjourney
Peters’ eyes glowed, fighting the tears he had refused. I know he erased and brought her closer. God, Sally, I want you to not go either. But some dreams are bigger than us.
Become? What about our dreams? What about everything we planned?
“You have to go,” whispered Peter. Her family, their dreams… they always wanted to study in Europe. I can’t hold you back. I’m not the reason you reduce your world.
Tears escaped and defeated Sally. But what about us? Her voice cracks, and these three words have the weight of every murder, every kiss that was stolen, and every promise you have ever made.
An emotional, teary-eyed young woman | Source: Midjourney
He brought them closer, and the room between them shrunk nothing. “We’ll see you again,” he said.
If we lose contact, we promise to meet 10 years of Christmas Eve at Times Square. «Sally whispered a trembling smile that broke her tears. I’ll bring a yellow umbrella. That’s how you find me.
Ten years later, Christmas Eve, Times Square. Even if life takes our separate ways, I promise I will be there, and I promise to find the most beautiful woman with a yellow umbrella no matter what happens, Peter will sweeten.
Sally’s laugh was bitter and heartache was colourful. Are we married or even if we have children? You have to come…just to talk. And tell me that you are happy and successful.
Peter and his fingers responded gently to tears in particular. âBecause some connections go beyond time and circumstances.
A sad young man with his eyes downcast | Source: Midjourney
They stayed in the middle of the dance floor and the world moved around them… Two hearts beating with perfect, painful sync, knowing that some farewell exposures were truly detailed.
Time passed like a leaf. Peter and Sally were in touch mostly through letters. Then one day she stopped writing. Peter was placed, but hope to see her continued running him. A few times later, Times Square sparkled with Christmas lights and holiday anniversary combined.
Peter stood near the towering Christmas tree and put his hands in the pocket of his coat. Snowflakes danced in the air and melted as he landed on his dark hair. His eyes searched the crowd, searching for a flash of yellow light.
A man standing on the street | Source: Midjourney
He hadn’t seen her in years, but he knew he recognized her everywhere. Sally was unforgettable. The way her laugh broke when she teased him how her nose was involved when she read a little seriously… he remembered everything.
Every moment was a thread of memory, pulling firmly around his mind.
The crowds moved, circling, and tourists and locals mixed with holiday excitement in the Kaleidoscope. Peters’ clock is engraved. The first few minutes, then an hour. The yellow umbrella was always phantom outside of vision. Then suddenly someone called out from behind.
His voice was so soft I hesitated. It could have been carried very small from the winter winds. He turned sharply, his heart beating so hard that he could hear the rhythm of his ears.
A man looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
A little girl was behind him and a yellow umbrella in her hand. Her brown curls surround her pale face, her eyes wide and incredibly familiar when they meet.
“Are you Peter?” this time she asked softly, as if she was afraid to break the soft spell.
Peter leaned down on her level, his mind was a hurricane of confusion. His hands were usually stable and trembling slightly as they acquired his eyes. Yes, I’m Peter. Who are you? “
The girl was wrapped in her lips. This reminded me of someone so painfully that he once knew he had kept his breath. She changed her weight from her feet on foot, her yellow umbrella wiggling slightly with her small hands.
“Betty is here,” she whispered. She won’t come.
A sad girl holding an umbrella | Source: Midjourney
The cold, which had nothing to do with the winter air, is creeping up Peter’s spine. In her eyes she spoke carefully, how she hugged herself, telling stories that were far more complicated than random encounters.
What do you think? Who are you? “He asked, the words were more like a demand than a question.
I was your daughter and whispered her. Tears in their eyes. They were green…surprisingly, definitely green. The same shadow that reminded him of the dance floor ten years ago.
Peters’ chest was stuck. Hmm, daughter? “He made it, but some of him knew the answer would change everything.
A shocked man | Source: Midjourney
Before Betty could answer, the elderly couple approached. The man was big, with large hair, and the woman raised her arms, gentle on her face, but she seemed to have touched her sadness, carved permanent lines around her eyes and mouth.
“We found him,” Betty and her voice were filled with tension and anticipation.
The man nodded, turning to Peter, steadily penetrating his gaze. “Hello, Peter,” he said, his voice measured deeply. I’m Felix and it’s my wife. We are Sally’s parents. We’ve heard a lot about you.
Peter Frozen, the mess was swirling in my head like a storm that threatened to break. His feet were not safe, and his heart competed in fear. I don’t know,” he whispered. ÂSally? And what are my daughter and my girl?
A sad older couple | Source: Midjourney
An emotional girl looking up at someone | Source: Midjourney
An emotional man holding his head | Source: Midjourney
A man holding an old brown diary | Source: Midjourney
A little girl standing on the street | Source: Midjourney
A man smiling | Source: Midjourney
A cheerful girl laughing | Source: Midjourney
A man holding a little girl’s hand | Source: Midjourney
The lips of older women tremble and fragile movements that speak volume. Her words fell like stones, each of whom destroyed Peter’s world. She passed away two years ago. cancer.
Peter stumbled, as if the words had physically beat him. “No… no, that’s not true,” he repeated his hopeless rejection of prayer. “Sorry,” Felix Rays said. His voice was filled with compassion that felt like a gentle, merciless embrace. She didn’t want her to know.
Betty’s little hand was pulled onto Peters’ sleeve. This is a lifeline in moments of emotional destruction. Before she passed away, Mom told me you loved her as if she was the most precious thing in the world. She whispered a voice full of childish innocence.
Peter went back to his lap and sank, and the world turned to him. His voice trembles, and every word is the broken part of a broken dream. Why didn’t she tell me? About you? About your illness? Why didn’t she help me?
Mrs. Felix played, and her hands dwindled. After she moved to Paris, she learned that she was pregnant with a child,” she said. She didn’t want to burden you. She knew her mother was sick and you had plenty on your plate. She thought you were moving.
happy? Peters Latchen was a raw, broken sound. But I never stopped affection,” he said, his voice broke as painfully and painfully as glass. Never once.
Photos from her prom night fell between the pages – Young Sally and Peter lost themselves in the eyes of others, but the world around them was only a soft and obvious background.
This picture was a note between Betty’s dreams and Sally’s deepest regrets.
Tears blurred his vision and transformed the words into watercolors of emotions. Sally’s hope, their fears, their extraordinary love… everything was captured by these vulnerable aspects. He looked up and slapped Betty’s wide nervous eyes. Eyes that maintained Sally’s spirit and courage.
»You are my daughter! Peter whispered the words revelation, prayer, and promises at once.
They talked for hours. Betty told him that his mother had shared it. All the lines were precious threads that overwhelmed the mosaics of life he had missed.
Her animated gesture reminded Peter all that he had lost for a moment when his eyes brightened as he spoke about Sally. “Mama always showed me how to dance in the rain,” Betty said. Her fingers persecuted an invisible pattern. She said she was the only person who could make her laugh at the most difficult times.
Felix approached, and her hands rested gently on Peters’ shoulder. “Sally protected you,” she said quietly, her voice wearing the weight of an unknown victim. She didn’t want to feel trapped. She did what she did for you, dear.
Peter wiped his face, his tears frozen like memories that had crystallized on his cheeks. I’ll drop everything for her,” he whispered.
Felix’s eyes glowed with nasty tears. “We know that now,” he said. And I’m sorry I couldn’t find you before.
Peter looked at Betty. Her face is a lovely mix of surprise and sadness, an active memory of love he found missing. I will never let you go,” he said, a sacred vow promise.
She smiled, shy, but hopeful, her green eyes-Sally’s eyes struck him. promise? “
“I promise,” Peter said.
Please tell us how you got to know each other.
On the anniversary of their first Christmas party, Peter and Betty were standing at Sally’s grave. A bouquet made of yellow roses lie on the stone, the petals lit by untouched snow… a splash of colour, hope, memory.
She always said yellow the colour of a new beginning,” her breath whispered, her breath creating small clouds in the winter air.
Your mother was right. She’s so proud of you,” said Peter, his protective arm around his daughter.
Betty nodded and leaned against his embrace. And she’s happy that we found each other.
Peter pressed a kiss against her temple. His heart was heavily heavy with loss and love. I will never let you go,” he said again, a federal promise between father, daughter and the memories of love that had been waiting for ten years to be reunited.
There’s another story: Samantha watches a lonely girl with a red bag every night at a bus stop near her house. One morning she finds a girl’s bag at the door and wears a tearful plea.
The piece was inspired by real events and people, but was fictional for creative purposes. Names, characters and details have been changed to protect privacy and improve the story. Similarity to a real person, living, dead, or actual event, is purely coincidence and not intended by the author.
The authors and publishers do not assert the correctness of the event or the presentation of the characters, and are not responsible for misunderstandings. This story has become what it is, and all opinions expressed are the opinions of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
A grieving man in a cemetery | Source: Midjourney
A bouquet of yellow roses on a gravestone | Source: Midjourney
An emotional little girl smiling in a cemetery | Source: Midjourney
