Midnight. I hold a key in my hand. My fingers tremble, my breath comes in staggered gasps, but I will myself to calm down.
This is it. This is the moment. This is the night I will unlock that box and dare to take a look at the book hidden inside. This is the night I will finally get to know what is written in those pages, what secrets and stories are scribbled and scrawled concerning these two lives that were somehow caused to collide.
I feel an arm on my shoulder. He is here. He smiles warmly. I smile back.
We make our way towards the chest. In silence, we stand. In silence, I put the key I had been fumbling with into hands which are stronger, surer, and more secure.
True, it was he who gave me that key. But though I’ve been already keeping it for a month, I wanted him to be with me in the grand unlocking of the greatest love story. He had already given me the right to do the key turning, but I wanted the person to do it to be him — not me.
And so after 3 years of watching and praying, after 18 months of courting and waiting, after 1 month of Lala Land bliss —
After anticipating God’s perfect timing — finally.
Finally, I see what is scribbled in the silver-lined pages.
And finally, I see the abundant spaces where more stories are waiting, waiting to be written in.
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