Title that Accurately Sums Up the Story

Chapitre Un

"N'oublie jamais," she would always tell me. "Je serai de retour avant que vous savez."

If only it were true.

Three months later, she was gone, taken from the world by 32 distinct brain tumors. It was a quiet passing, say the doctors. Passed away in her sleep, wrapped up in dreams.

But I know for a fact that it's all a lie.

Even since before we knew each other, I was aware of a certain something that was different about her. The way she moved, the mannerisms she used, the little differences in her habits.

I knew before I met her that she was in pain. And I was determined to help her.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Before we go into any further detail, let's set things straight.

I loved her. That is the only thing that you can't take away from me. I loved her more than I loved myself. I would have sailed the seven seas, hunted the most dangerous beasts, and thrown myself in front of a bus for her.

But any cliche guy would do the same, right? So what makes me any different?

Well, in a lot of ways, I'm quite similar to one of those cliches. The moment she walked into my life, I knew that she was the only one for me. The instant she talked to me, we clicked faster than a professional typer's keyboard. We got to know each other, and soon enough, we were going out to the movies and out to dinner almost every week. It was like a good dream, except i wasn't waking up.
It was destined for failure before it began. On our third date, she tripped and fell down on the side walk.
"I'm fine, really," she would say to me. "I just slipped."
But you would have known she was lying if you would have seen her. She walked so elegantly, it was as if every waking moment was spent practicing for a ballroom dance. It was something more than a simple fall.
She would also complain about her constant headaches and dizziness. Now I don't know about you, but getting a headache every single day isn't exactly something that normally happens.
"I just don't get enough to drink. I just need water."
Her lips said one thing, but her eyes said another.

So it was like any other unsuspecting day. We had just come off the ferry, and we were sitting on a bench overlooking the river. It was a beautiful scene, almost like a storybook. The cold night wind was blowing ever so gently on our faces, and it made her hair flutter in the wind like the delicate wings of a butterfly. The air was chilled, but not so cold it was uncomfortable. The only noise was the quiet whooshing of the wind in  my ears, and the echoes of the ferry boat heading back across the river, delivering those who had boarded, and at the same time, heading back tot he crowd of passengers that had already gathered on the other side.

I glanced over at her, and I noticed the tears glistening in her eyes. I took the time to really look at her, and study her from the bottom up. She looked beautiful; her dress was as dark as the sky above us, and she had the eyes to match. Her heels were sitting by her side, and her neatly manicured nails were resting in her lap.

But her face. It was like I was staring into a portrait painted by the finest artists. The light makeup she had applied served only to enhance her already perfect face. The contour of her cheeks, the slight curvature of her smile, the endless pools of infiniteness that made up her eyes. I wondered how I had ever gotten so lucky.