Ethan had been here earlier that afternoon, preparing. At the edge of the beach, under a gnarled driftwood arch, he had placed a dozen lanterns in a soft semicircle, each one
flickering like a heartbeat. A blanket lay at the center, and a small wooden box rested just beside it.
Mia stopped in her tracks when she saw it. Her hand tightened around his.
"Ethan…"
"I wanted this to be ours," he said, his voice low but steady. "A moment that's just for us."
They sat together on the blanket, the cool sand beneath them and the warmth of the lanterns dancing in their eyes. Mia leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, and for a while, they just watched the waves roll in, letting the stillness wrap around them.
Then Ethan pulled away gently, just enough to look at her. There was something in his
expression—tender, nervous, deeply certain.
"Mia," he began, his voice softer than the sea breeze. "Do you remember the first time we ever talked about love?"
She smiled faintly, her eyes glimmering. "At that little diner downtown. You said love was like gravity—you didn't always see it, but you felt it pulling you in."
He chuckled. "And you told me love was like music—messy, unpredictable, but beautiful when it all came together."
"I still believe that," she whispered.
"So do I," he said. "And I think what we have… it's a little bit of both. It's gravity and music and fire and stillness all wrapped up in one. You've seen me at my best, and you've seen me at my absolute worst. And somehow, you never let go. You never stopped believing in me—even when I stopped believing in myself."
Mia's breath caught in her throat. She opened her mouth to respond, but he held up his hand gently, his own eyes shining.
"I know we've been through storms—real ones and the kind you don't see. But through every single one, I kept coming back to you. I don't want to imagine a life where I'm not walking beside you, laughing with you, crying with you, holding your hand through whatever comes next."
He reached into the wooden box, his fingers trembling slightly, and pulled out a delicate ring—a gold band with a single sapphire at its center, surrounded by tiny diamonds that sparkled like stars.
"This was my grandmother's," he said quietly. "She always said she wanted me to give it to someone who felt like home. And that's what you are, Mia. You're my home. My heart. My person."
He got down on one knee, the lantern light catching in the sapphire like the reflection of the sea.
"Mia Rose Bennett," he said, his voice steady but thick with emotion, "Will you marry me?"
For a moment, time folded in on itself. The wind held its breath. The sea paused mid-whisper. Mia stared at him; her heart racing so hard it felt like it might burst from her chest. Tears filled her eyes—tears of joy, of disbelief, of finally.
"Yes," she whispered, her voice breaking on the word. "Yes, Ethan. A thousand times yes."
He slipped the ring onto her finger, his hands shaking now, unable to hold back the wide, joyous smile spreading across his face. She pulled him to his feet, and they wrapped their arms around each other, holding on as if the world might dissolve around them if they let go.
The waves crashed in the distance. The stars burned overhead. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the past, not the future—just the present. Just the promise held between their hands. A promise of love, of laughter, of long nights and early mornings, of growing old and growing better—together.
They stood there for a long time, swaying slightly in each other's arms, and when they finally pulled apart, Ethan touched her cheek with reverence.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you more," she replied, grinning through tears.
And somewhere beyond the surf and stars, the universe exhaled, as if it, too, had been
holding its breath—waiting for this love to find its forever.