If you hadn’t turned around to make sure the door had locked, you wouldn’t have noticed the letter taped to the door. It was simple, a stark white envelope with your name scribbled on the front in plain ink. You removed it from the door, the tape leaving a translucent mark where it had been stuck. As soon as you saw the handwriting, you knew who had left it behind.

I realize apologizing isn’t enough. Please come to dinner at 6:00? Where we had our first date. Give me this last chance.

Skeptic thoughts pulled at your brain, but you decided to give him a final chance to make up for his actions before. His intentions seemed genuine enough.

In front of the mirror, you found yourself paying extra attention you your appearance. You stopped messing with your hair. Who were you trying to impress? Under technical terms, he was your boyfriend. You put on the dress you wore the first time you met him. It was his favorite.

You were surprised to see him already sitting down when you climbed out of the taxi and walked in the restaurant door. He jumped up at the sight of you, pulling out a chair across from him so you could sit. Cautiously, he extended a hand.

“Hi. Nice to meet you.” Your hand met his and he shook it politely before sitting down again. Your eyebrow raised in mystification.

“What are you doing?” He smiled, ignoring the obvious confusion he was causing.

“What do you want to eat? I think you would like this.” He pointed to your favorite dish on the menu. Letting go of a heavy sigh, you decided to play along. Where was he going with this?

“That’s my favorite.” His grin widened.

“Really? Your favorite? It’s like we were meant for each other.” Your eyes shot up to his, and you detected a gleam of persuasion in his eyes. Was he trying to show you why you were together? This is ridiculous. Despite your cynical thoughts, you granted him your attention, playing along with the “first date” scenario he was building around the meal. By the time you finished eating, you had nearly forgotten why you were furious with him in the first place.

His hand rested open on his half of the table. He reached towards you, stopping at the table’s middle. He was hesitant, unsure whether it was okay for him to touch you, whether he was forgiven.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I really am sorry. I had no right to be so cruel to you before. And…you have every right to hate me.” The usual twinkle in his bright eyes seemed nearly dead. He was broken, missing a vital part of him that made life bearable. Cracked and lost, a child reaching with desperation for a balloon stuck out of reach. “I swear I’ll be better.”

“It’s alright.” With that, you crossed the middle of the table, meeting him halfway and placing your hand in his. A long-absent smile broke out on your face.

“No more breaks?” he said, a hopeful child once again.

“No more breaks.”

The evening grew dark and inky, the city streets glittering with the remains of the afternoon’s light rain. Illuminated by the light of the restaurant, a young couple chattered late into the night. They left only when the café was closing, and walked hand in hand towards a car. To an outsider, it had the aura of a first date, marked by the excitement of getting to know someone new. To you, it was a rebirth, a second chance at your most important relationship.

“But what about your car?” you asked as your boyfriend climbed into the seat next to you. He looked quietly from the taxi window back at the parking lot.

“I’ll just take another taxi, and get it later.” He smiled, tugging you closer to him. “But I’d rather be with you right now.” You leaned your head on his chest. It was comfortable, relaxing even. He sighed contentedly, gently leaving a kiss on the top of your head. “I really missed you.” You snuggled deeper into his embrace.

“I know. I missed you too.” Surrounded by his warmth, you fell asleep faster than you had since the fight had started.

After paying the driver, your boyfriend lifted you carefully from the taxi. You woke up, stumbling to try and stand on your own. He laughed, hoisting you up, insisting he carry you piggy-back to your apartment.

“It’s the least I can do.” In your dream-like stupor, you dozed off before he even approached the front door. Setting you down on your mattress, he placed a careful hand on your forehead and lay beside you. His arm wrapped around your waist while you slept. Nothing, nobody, could make him let go.