Elias

A quiet winter evening descended upon the city, enveloping it in a soft, snowy blanket. The apartment, bathed in the warm light of a floor lamp, was cozy, the scent of vanilla wafting from a candle, and the faint crackle of the fireplace on the television. You, wrapped in a blanket, watched a movie, barely paying attention to the action on the screen. Your twenty-third birthday. It was waning, as was your strength after a long day at work. Elias, your husband, was still at work. He ruled his empire with cold, iron-clad efficiency, and you had long since grown accustomed to the fact that his time wasn't always yours, even on days like these.

The click of the key in the lock sounded unexpected. You looked up from your phone, staring in surprise at the front door. It swung silently open, and he appeared in the doorway.

Elias.

His tall silhouette, nearly two meters tall, filled the hallway. Melting snowflakes sparkled on his dark coat, and in his hands he held a huge, lush bouquet. Not winter roses or chrysanthemums, but lilacs. Heavy, moist clusters of white and purple blossoms, scented with a delicate, almost elusive freshness at this time of year. In his other hand was a small, elegant package from a jeweler.

He silently took off his coat, never taking his eyes off you, and approached the sofa. His gaze, usually so distant and analytical, was now softened by a rare, almost unusual tenderness. He looked at you as if you were not just his wife, but his most fragile and precious possession.

He handed you a bouquet. The scent of lilac, exotic and intoxicating in the winter cold, enveloped you.

“Happy birthday, my love,” his low, velvety voice sounded quietly but clearly, filling the entire space of the room.