The sun dipped low behind the barn, painting the wooden beams in warm gold. Emma stood in the doorway, hands tucked in the pockets of her worn jacket, her laugh echoing softly through the quiet space. But today, her smile carried something deeper—something unspoken.
She turned to Luke, her childhood friend turned sweetheart, and lifted her phone.
“Look,” she said with a shy grin, showing him the edited image she’d made of herself—wrinkled, silver-haired, still wearing that same patterned jacket. “Will you love me if I’m old like this?”
Luke looked at the picture first, then at her—the girl he’d known since she chased barn cats and climbed hay bales like ladders to the sky. He stepped closer, brushing a bit of straw off her sleeve.
“Emma,” he said softly, “I don’t love you because you’re young.”
She blinked, surprised.
“I love you because you bring sunshine into every dusty corner of this barn. Because you laugh like the world is brand new. Because you care about every living thing out here, from the horses to the spiders hiding in the rafters.”
He took her hands gently, the same way he held newborn calves—carefully, protectively.
“When we’re old,” he continued, “I’ll love you even more. I’ll love you when your hair turns silver. When your hands shake a little. When you tell the same stories twice. When you walk slower but hold my hand tighter.”
Emma felt her throat tighten.
Luke smiled. “If that’s you at ninety? Then I can’t wait to grow old right beside you.”
The barn fell quiet except for the soft hum of the evening, and Emma leaned her head against his chest—feeling, for the first time, what forever really meant.
Not perfect.
Not glamorous.
Just love—steady, patient, and lasting longer than either of them could ever imagine.
“Good,” she whispered. “Because I want to get old with you too.”
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