Anna
Putting on my shoes, I walked to the lake and spotted Simon sitting on a rock overlooking the water. I sat down beside him, catching the faint scent of his cologne — it made my head feel hazy, my heart fluttering with a sudden ache to feel his lips on mine.
We didn't say a word. We just sat there, gazing at the moon, the stars, and the still surface of the lake."The moon is beautiful, isn't it?" he said softly.
My eyes widened, my heart began to race. Did he just—? There was no way he actually said that. All my life, I never thought I'd hear those words from someone who understood their meaning. The moon is beautiful means I love you. The Japanese writer Natsume Sōseki once said it was too direct to translate I love you into Japanese, so instead, one might say, The moon is beautiful, isn't it?
I turned to him, brow furrowed."Simon," I breathed. His eyes met mine."The moon," he paused, "looks beautiful tonight." He smiled softly.
Of course, a man like Simon would choose such a poetic way to say he loved someone. Without thinking twice, I pressed my lips to his. His hand tangled in my curls, pulling me closer as our kiss deepened — passionate, consuming. My arms wrapped around him, and in that moment, I felt safe, like I was wrapped in a cocoon.
When the kiss finally broke, his arms remained around my waist. He looked at me with such tenderness — who knew a man so rough and guarded could hold so much gentleness in his eyes?
"Yes, it is," I whispered, searching his gaze.
"I love you," he said quietly. "It's always been you — from the moment you moved in. My life hasn't been the same since."
I cupped his face in my hands. "I love you too, Simon."
Without another word, he stood and pulled me to my feet. My hand fit perfectly in his as we walked back to the house. My heart raced, my thoughts spinning — all of them filled with him.
When we reached his room, he turned to me, his eyes soft but burning. His fingertips brushed my neck, tracing invisible lines that sent shivers down my spine. The air between us felt charged, the world beyond that room slipping away until there was only us.
When we reached his room, he turned to me, his eyes soft but burning. His fingertips brushed the back of my neck, tracing invisible lines that sent shivers down my spine. The world outside seemed to disappear — all that existed was the warmth of his breath, the quiet hum of our hearts, the nearness of him.
He tucked a curl behind my ear, his thumb lingering against my cheek. "You have no idea what you do to me," he whispered.
I smiled faintly, my voice barely a breath. "I think I do."
Simon's lips found mine again — slower this time, deeper. It wasn't the desperate kiss from before; it was something heavier, filled with meaning. Each touch said everything we hadn't dared to speak aloud.
We moved together in silence, guided by something unspoken. The air was thick with warmth and promise, the night outside wrapping around us like a secret. His hands were steady, grounding, as if he was afraid I might fade away if he let go.
When we finally stopped, the world was still. He rested his forehead against mine, both of us catching our breath.
"I meant every word," he murmured. "Every single one."
"I know," I said softly, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingers. "And I meant mine too."
For a long time, we just lay there — hearts beating in sync, the moonlight spilling through the window, painting the room silver. There was no need for more words. The silence between us was full — of love, of peace, of everything we had been too afraid to hope for.
Outside, the night went on, the lake whispering in the distance. But in that moment, in his arms, the world felt beautifully still.
For a while, we stayed wrapped in the quiet, the only sound our breathing and the faint rustle of wind through the open window. Simon's arm rested over me, his thumb drawing slow circles against my skin.
I stared up at the ceiling, feeling the truth press against my chest until I couldn't hold it in anymore.
"Simon," I whispered.
He hummed softly in response, eyes still half closed.
"There's something I need to tell you."
He shifted, looking down at me, instantly alert. "What is it?"
I took a deep breath, trying to steady the tremble in my voice. "The agreement with Oliver… I'm not going ahead with it. It's over."
His expression tightened, confusion flashing across his face. "Anna, you don't have to—"
"I do," I interrupted, shaking my head. " I can't keep pretending that something empty is worth more than what I feel for you. I'm done with all of it — with the deal, with the expectations, with him and Oliver agrees too, he didn't think it would while I was in love with you."
He searched my face as if he was trying to make sure he'd heard me right. "Are you sure?"
I reached up, my fingers brushing against his jaw. "I've never been more sure of anything. I choose you, Simon. I always will."
His breath hitched slightly, his eyes softening in that way that made my heart ache. "You're serious?"
"I'm done running," I said, smiling faintly. "Whatever comes next, I want it to be with you. No more pretending, no more half-truths. Just us."
For a moment, he said nothing. Then he pulled me closer, his arms tightening around me like he was afraid I'd disappear.
"You don't know what that means to me," he murmured against my hair. "I've spent so long convincing myself I wasn't something anyone could choose."
I leaned back just enough to meet his gaze. "Well, you are. You're the only one I ever wanted to choose."
The look he gave me then — raw, disbelieving, and full of quiet wonder — was enough to steal my breath. He kissed me again, softer this time, a promise in every touch.
When he finally pulled back, the first light of morning was creeping through the curtains.
"Then it's us," he whispered.
"It's always been us," I said.
And as the sun rose over the lake outside, everything else — the past, the fear, the noise — fell away, leaving only the two of us and the kind of love that didn't need to be spoken to be real.
From that night on, we never slept apart again. His house — once quiet and cold — slowly became my home. My books filled his shelves, my laughter filled his rooms, and together we built something real.
We travelled often — not to escape, but to see the world through new eyes. The lake was always waiting for us when we returned, the same place where everything began.
In time, I found purpose again. I started working with veterans, helping them rebuild their lives and find their footing. Simon was the first to believe in what I wanted to do. Together, we opened a charity — a place for anyone who needed a second chance: people without homes, without work, without hope. He handled the logistics and the building work; I handled the people. It was messy, it was hard, and it was perfect.
Three years later, we welcomed our first child — a little boy with Simon's eyes and my stubbornness. Then, three years after that, a daughter — wild, bright, and endlessly curious.
Sometimes, at night, after the children were asleep, we'd sit by the lake again, hand in hand, the reflection of the moon shimmering on the water.
"The moon is beautiful, isn't it?" he'd whisper.
And every time, I'd smile — because now I knew exactly what those words meant.