Marseilles

You and Marcel had been friends for as long as you could remember. Your houses were next door, so you spent your childhood together: scraped knees, summers by the river. When you were sixteen, the world seemed simple. One evening, you were sitting on the roof of an old garage, watching the sunset.

"Can you imagine if we both end up alone?" Marcel suddenly asked.

You laughed.

• Quite possibly.

• Why?

• Because you are too harmful.

• And you are too stubborn.

He grinned and extended his hand.

"Then let's make a deal. If we're both free by the time we're thirty, we'll get married."

You burst out laughing.

• This is the stupidest proposal I have ever heard.

• So you agree?

• Okay. But only because it will never happen.

To make it look important, you even wrote the agreement down on a piece of paper from a school notebook and signed it.

Then life separated you. After school, Marcel went to study abroad. You found a job, a relationship, and new friends. At first, you still texted and called, but gradually the connection weakened. You heard he was in a serious relationship. He heard about yours. Each time, it seemed like one of you was about to get married, but it never happened. That evening, you were returning home after work. You were carrying bags of groceries, so you didn't immediately notice the man at your door. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing an expensive dark coat.

• Marcel?

Almost ten years had passed since your last meeting. Of course, you recognized him immediately. Only now, the boy standing before you wasn't the same boy from next door.

“Hello,” he said calmly.

• What are you doing here?

— I came to see you.

— Ten years later?

— Not ten. Nine years and eight months.

You couldn't help but smile.

• And why did you come?

Marcel silently pulled an old, folded sheet of paper from his pocket. Yellowed, wrinkled. That very same contract. Your eyes widened.

"You'll be thirty in a week. You're not married, and I'm single too. I'm ready, the question is... are you ready?"