Fate has a way of knowing what it’s doing: after 13 years, I embraced my one and only once again.

The night of my prom loomed ahead. I was eagerly looking forward to it, even though I didn’t have a girlfriend. But I believed that fate would place everything as it should be. When the time came, I knew I’d realize who I was meant to spend the evening with.

That day, I put on a formal dark suit, smoothed my hair, caught my reflection in the mirror, and, with my parents’ blessing, headed to the venue where we were celebrating.

Amidst the bright smiles and colorful dresses, my gaze settled on a girl who seemed to be alone too. I recognized her—Charlotte was in a parallel class, but until then, we hadn’t even spoken.

Only now did I realize how extraordinary she truly was. Graceful and slim, with deep, stormy grey eyes and long blonde hair cascading over her delicate shoulders.

I don’t remember how I gathered the courage, but I approached her, extended my hand, and invited her to dance. From that moment until dawn, I danced only with her.

The next day, I knew she was my girl. I had fallen in love.

Yet, fate had other plans.

A Broken Heart
Charlotte didn’t feel the same way about me. I found out she had been in a long-term relationship with someone from a different city, and he was returning after graduation. They were planning to marry.

I couldn’t believe it.

For two years, I lived in anticipation, hoping she might change her mind, hoping she might see me differently. I lingered outside her house, hiding in the shadows when she stepped out. I wanted her to notice me, but feared she’d see my heartache.

Each glance of hers, every word spoken to someone else, tore me apart.

But I couldn’t do anything about it.

And when Charlotte did marry, I watched her wedding from afar.

I promised myself I would wait.

I tried seeing others, but no one could take her place. Everything felt empty and meaningless.

So passed the long years—13 to be exact.

A Second Chance from Fate
Then one day, tragedy struck.

Charlotte and her husband were in an accident. He died instantly. She miraculously survived but was left with injuries that forced her to rely on a cane.

Fate offered me another chance.

But I knew I couldn’t simply storm back into her life.

I waited.

And only when we both turned 35 did I finally hold her hand.

She gave me a long look filled with weariness, pain, and perhaps regret.

“Why are you still here?” she quietly asked.

I didn’t know how to respond. Because I loved her? Because I never forgot? Because I waited to tell her everything one day?

I simply drew her close and embraced her.

And from that moment on, we were together.

The Trials We Endured
We shared 10 years of happiness. We didn’t have children; after the accident, Charlotte couldn’t have any.

But it didn’t matter to me.

I loved her. I loved the silver streak in her hair she refused to dye. I loved her tired smile. I loved her even when pain stole the color from her face.

But fate took her from me once again.

Charlotte fell ill. The doctors spoke of hope, but she refused treatment.

“I’m not afraid,” she told me once.

She only did one thing: she cut her hair.

“Why?” I asked, shocked.

“I want to give it to someone else who can still fight,” she replied.

Her lovely blonde hair became a wig for another woman battling illness.

Charlotte knew she couldn’t win this fight.

I held her hand until the end.

And if I could live my life over, I wouldn’t change a thing. I’d wait for her again. I’d love her again.

Because Charlotte was my heart. My fate. My life.