The day they sat together in a field of dandelions was the day she knew she fell for him. The sky was blue, the grass was green, and the wind was soft but insistent. And most of all, the dandelions were floating everywhere, past her eyes, though her hair. It was perfect.

He said to her that day, “I’m going to marry you.”

She had felt her heart race. And they sat together side by side, hand in hand, watching dandelions fly by.

They were four then.

The day they sat together in a bustling cafeteria was the day she felt apprehensive for the first time. The room was noisy, there was school food everywhere, and the plate in front of her looked unappetizing. And most of all, he sat next to her, eyeing her food with a sort of cautious look.

He said to her that day, “I’ll finish your food for you.”

She had felt happy. And they sat together, somewhat unsure of what the first day of school had to offer.

They were five then.

The day they sat together in the silent courtyard while the music pounded faintly in the background was the day they felt like they were growing up. The bench was cold, the wind was biting, and the gymnasium pulsated with an alien excitement. And most of all, it was just the two of them.

He said to her that day, “We don’t have to go back in if you don’t want to.”

She had felt grateful. And they sat together, just enjoying a half-quiet night, satisfied with each other’s company.

They were fifteen then.

The day they sat together in the crowded stadium was the day a chapter of their life ended. The plastic seats creaked, the sound of multitudes of pairs of feet thundered, and their classmates bristled with anticipation. And most of all, they felt more accomplished than ever.

He said to her that day, “Aren’t you glad high school’s over?”

She had felt relieved. And they sat together, watching the rest of their friends receive their diplomas, beyond proud of what they had been through.

They were seventeen then.

The day they sat at the edge of the pool, toes dipping into the cold water, was the day their paths finally broke. The sun beat down, the vanilla ice cream dripped, and the boxes sat untouched. And most of all, they found themselves reminiscing on what could have been… might have been.

He said to her that day, “Is there anything else you need to pack?”

She had felt thankful. And they sat together, glaring at the sun’s reflection glinting back at them, not yet ready for her to leave for college so many hours away.

They were eighteen then.

The day they fought for the first time was the day they realized nothing lasts forever. The coffee spilled, the voices grew, and the tears sprung. And most of all, their friendship felt more fractured than ever.

He said to her that day, “Maybe we need a break from being friends.”

She had felt devastated. And they sat together, starting at the coffee drip off the table, stubbornly refusing reality.

They were twenty one then.

The day he introduced his girlfriend to her was the day her heart broke. The smiles grew faker, the words grew sweeter, and the rift grew wider. And most of all, their fairy tale was ending.

He said to her that day, “I hope you can support me as my best friend.”

She had felt despair. And they sat together, three people a crowd, chatting politely while masking their unsaid feelings.

They were twenty three then.

The day she watched him smiling at another girl in a white dress was the day that destroyed them. The vows were exchanged, the bouquet was tossed, and the cake was cut. And most of all, their happiness came to an end.

He said to her that day, “I’m so glad you could make it.”

She had felt bitterness. And they sat together, among many family and friends, celebrating what was the best day of one of their lives and the worst day for the other.

They were twenty nine then.

The day she stood outside his door under the pouring rain was the day they were so, so close and yet so far. The warm arms tightened, the comforting words were softer, and the tears flowed. And most of all, they felt their world falling apart.

He said to her that day, “We’re both married to the wrong people aren’t we?”

She had felt relief. And they sat together, trying too hard to will time to stop, and knowing in their heart of hearts, time waited for no one.

They were thirty one then.

The day she ran to the hospital to find him lying on the stretcher was the day that came too early, a day she had hoped would never come. The monitor beeped, the tears wouldn’t stop flowing, and the blood was everywhere. And most of all, they both came to the same conclusion.

He said to her that day, “I promised I would marry you right? Forgive me for breaking my vow.”

She had felt regret. And they sat together, watching the clock tick as the doctors entered.

They were thirty five then.

The day she walked back to where it all started to visit him was the day she found closure. The sky was blue, the grass was green, and the wind was soft but insistent. And most of all, the dandelions were floating everywhere, past her eyes, though her hair. It was perfect.

He didn’t say anything to her that day, but his last message to her was left on that slab of stone, neatly printed under Oh Sehun.

“All it takes is the wind to blow dandelions away.”

They were dandelions then.