After returning from Spain, Eric moved into an apartment closer to his office.
At Oracle, a subtle tension hung in the air. Rumors of layoffs circulated constantly, especially for positions in cloud computing and technical roles. Almost every week, someone would be called in for a meeting and leave later carrying a cardboard box. Voices in the hallways grew quieter; the elevator rides lost their small talk and became heavy with silence. An invisible pressure seemed to hover over everything.
Eric's workload suddenly grew heavier. Projects were reshuffled, targets redefined, and meetings followed one another relentlessly. He began staying late, sometimes even working until the early hours of the morning.
His meetings with Clara became less frequent. On the phone, his voice remained gentle, but there was a noticeable fatigue beneath it.
The days they had walked side by side along the Camino still seemed not far away, yet reality had accelerated into a different timeline, pushing them along separate rhythms.
As New Year's approached, Eric's parents suggested he invite Clara over to their home.
That evening, Clara stepped into Eric's house for the first time. The room smelled of food, and the kitchen light cast a warm, soft glow.
Eric's mother was warm and welcoming, immediately inviting her to sit. On the table were freshly made dumplings—sauerkraut-filled—and a pot of steaming soybean paste soup, the white steam curling lazily in the light.
She kept offering Clara food, speaking gently and with care. When she learned that Clara had struggled with eczema, she got up and retrieved a jar of homemade ointment from the cupboard. She explained that she had studied traditional Chinese medicine in her youth and knew a little about herbal remedies, suggesting Clara take it home and try it.
The gesture was simple yet touching, a natural outpouring of care that caught Clara by surprise.
Eric's father maintained a polite distance, speaking little, nodding occasionally, his expression calm but restrained. He had always held a certain skepticism toward people in the arts, and since Clara was slightly older than Eric, he viewed their relationship as misaligned with his expectations for the future.
When they left that night, the streets were quiet. Clara glanced back at the warmly lit house. The warmth inside was real. Eric's mother's care was sincere. And his father's silence existed just as palpably.
Reality seemed like a slowly unfolding curtain—not just workplace pressures, but family expectations, generational perspectives, and differing views of the future.
Earlier, during dinner, William had told Sabrina about a friend who, while driving home from visiting family over the weekend, nearly had an accident on a mountain road.
Rounding a curve, the friend's electric car suddenly lost its ability to slow down. The vehicle finally came to a stop only after careening onto an open stretch. The incident left him drenched in cold sweat.
The car's side mirror camera had malfunctioned and was recently repaired at the dealer. During the software update, however, an unexpected bug made braking dangerously unreliable on winding mountain roads. The near-disaster shook William as well, leading him to cancel plans to buy an electric car.
On the eve of the New Year, everyone gathered in William and Sabrina's living room. Champagne, desserts, and freshly baked snacks were arranged on the table. Soft music flowed through the room, and a sense of ease settled over everyone, as though the turbulence of the past year had been temporarily paused.
William busied himself in the kitchen, the smell of roasting lamb carrying hints of fat and rosemary, slowly spreading through the air.
Clara smiled as she recounted their days on the Camino—the long walks, the scenery, the weight of their backpacks, and the unspoken thrill of seeing the cathedral at the end. Eric occasionally added a few words, calm yet carrying the quiet understanding only they shared.
Sabrina and Vivian sat on opposite sides of the sofa, listening in silence.
After dinner, champagne in hand, the conversation continued. As midnight approached, Clara suddenly raised her voice and laughed, calling out the first numbers of the countdown.
"Ten, nine, eight…"
Everyone joined in, smiling as they counted along.
When they reached "two," Eric suddenly stood.
At first, everyone thought he was just raising his glass. But he drew a deep breath, and the air seemed to pause for a heartbeat.
"Clara."
He knelt on one knee. His voice was soft but clear.
Vivian instinctively stopped laughing. Sabrina gently set her glass down.
Eric produced a small box from his pocket, slightly awkward in his movements.
"This past year, we've walked a long road together," he said. "There was the Spanish sunshine, countless quiet nights, and some not-so-easy moments."
His voice wavered slightly.
"I don't know what the future holds. But I do know this: whatever happens, I want to be with you."
The box opened. The ring caught the light, flashing briefly.
"Clara, will you marry me?"
A sudden silence fell over the room.
Clara froze. Surprise crossed her eyes, and a fleeting hesitation flickered across her face.
Sabrina watched quietly. She did not applaud, did not speak. She understood that a proposal was never just a romantic moment—it was a commitment to the future, the courage to say "yes" in the face of uncertainty.
William whispered first: "Say yes."
All eyes turned to Clara.
Time seemed to pause as everyone awaited her response.
Clara's fingers tightened slightly. She looked at Eric, kneeling before her, the light on his face revealing a nearly clumsy but utterly sincere courage.
Images flashed through her mind:
The Spanish sunshine.
The long cobblestone paths.
The cool morning air as they set out.
That endless Camino—the two of them carrying their backpacks, one step at a time toward the horizon.
That hike had once made her feel that life could finally begin anew.
Yet other memories quietly surfaced.
Her father lying in a hospital bed.
Empty corridors.
The heavy chest-tightening nights she had once endured.
She had thought she had entirely left that darkness behind. But some wounds never truly disappear—they simply sink slowly into the depths of life.
Eric remained kneeling, patient, unhurried.
His gaze was warm and unwavering.
Clara realized suddenly—life did not move forward in certainty; it moved forward through uncertainty.
She took a deep breath. Then she reached out her hand.
"Yes."
Her voice was soft but unmistakable.
The room seemed to brighten instantly.
Vivian laughed first. William raised his glass. Sabrina clapped softly. Eric exhaled, relief flooding his face, as if completing a long journey. He stood carefully and slid the ring onto Clara's finger.
At that moment, the citywide New Year countdown sounded.
"Happy New Year!"
Everyone laughed and raised their glasses.
Bubbles rose slowly in the champagne.
Clara looked down at the ring, the light catching the small circle of metal, a quiet imprint of time.
Sabrina stood nearby, tears welling in her eyes.
She thought of the book she had recently read—if time was not a line, but a structure already in existence, then perhaps this moment had already been written somewhere in the future.
And so, a new year began.