Sylvia and Luke appear to have the perfect life. A thriving fashion startup, a beautiful four-year-old daughter, and a love that began when they met at Harvard Business School. But beneath the surface, Luke hides a dark secret-he's the heir to one o...
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The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a sterile glow on the worn tables of the Harvard dining hall. The clatter of silverware and the murmur of conversations fill the air, a far cry from the romantic dinner I'd envisioned. Yet, Sylvia's eyes sparkle with genuine delight as she holds the silver band aloft, its small zirconium gem catching the harsh light.
"Luke, this is beautiful," she breathes, her voice trembling with a joy that warms my heart despite the gnawing guilt in my gut. Relief washes over me, fleeting but welcome. It wasn't the doubt about the setting, but the worry etched on her face earlier when I'd suggested skipping a proper anniversary dinner that I yearned to erase.
"The dining hall is fine," she insists, a valiant attempt to mask the disappointment I know flickers in her eyes. Fine, right? Here we are, surrounded by the cacophony of student life, miles away from the candlelit intimacy I crave.
Shame burns in my throat. Every extra shift at the greasy spoon diner has come at a cost – stolen study hours, aching muscles, and the constant worry gnawing at my stomach about making rent. Harvard, the supposed gateway to a brighter future, feels more like a gilded cage at times.
"It's not much," I mumble, the apology thick on my tongue. Five extra shifts, countless sacrifices, all for this tiny silver band with its rectangular gem. A pale shadow of the diamond dreams I held for her.
Sylvia's smile remains radiant, a beacon in the sterile room. "It's perfect," she counters, her voice a melody amidst the clatter. She slips the ring onto her finger, the cool metal a stark contrast to her warm skin. It fits perfectly.
I spent countless stolen moments in her dorm room where I'd pretended to measure her finger with a stray piece of her hair that I took from her hair brush. I remember when her roomate Vivian caught me doing that. She gave me a look like I just sniffed the thing. I heard her mumbled "Fuckin' weirdo."
As Sylvia admires the ring, I can't help but be transported back to the countless hours spent imagining this moment. The Harvard dining hall might not be the picturesque backdrop I'd dreamed of, but her reaction makes it feel like the grandest of stages.
"Happy anniversary," I say, my voice soft but sincere.
She looks up at me, her eyes glistening. "Happy anniversary, Luke. I can't believe it's been two years already."
"The best two years of my life," I reply, meaning every word. Despite the struggles, the late nights, and the relentless pressure of our academic and work schedules, every moment with Sylvia has made it all worthwhile.
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the din of the dining hall fading into the background. It's just us, lost in our own little world. I think about the future, about the life we want to build together.
