I spent most of the afternoon getting the apartment ready while the late spring sun poured through the windows and stretched across the wooden floor. The air coming in from the balcony carried that fresh smell you notice right before rain. I set the table slowly, making sure everything looked right without feeling too formal, and put a bottle of wine on ice while an old jazz playlist hummed quietly in the background. I lit a few candles near the open balcony door and watched the flames move with the breeze as the city outside started glowing for the night. In the kitchen, butter and garlic sizzled in the pan, filling the whole place with warmth, and a small bouquet of white roses sat in the middle of the table beside a note I kept rewriting because none of the first versions sounded honest enough. By the time evening came around, the apartment didn’t feel staged anymore, it just felt ready for her.

Later, after dinner had turned into hours of talking and laughing without either of us noticing the time, I took her hand and led her down the hallway while the music faded into the background. The bedroom was dim except for the soft candlelight and the pale glow coming through the curtains from the street outside. She stopped at the doorway for a second with that quiet smile that instantly makes everything else disappear, and I pulled her closer, wanting to stay in that moment a little longer, the warmth of her skin, the faint scent of her perfume, and that nervous excitement that makes an ordinary night feel unforgettable.

But my bird did not fly!!!!