If my days were numbered, I wouldn't let them end in silence.Not in loneliness.Not in regret.
I reached *Blue Tide Bar* just before noon. The place was alive laughter, clinking glasses, the hum of a guitar somewhere near the corner. Tourists lounged under umbrellas, locals chatted at the bar, and for a moment, I simply stood there, letting the life around me seep into my bones.
Then I saw him.
Lucas.
He was behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, sunlight dancing across his tanned arms as he mixed a drink. When he looked up and saw me, his face froze and then broke into the kind of smile that used to melt me even when we were teenagers.
"Elara," he breathed, coming around the bar. "You came back again."
"I did."
His eyes softened, searching mine for something unspoken. "You look… lighter."
"I feel lighter," I said, even though the report in my purse felt like a stone pulling me under.
He hesitated, then reached for my hand. "Come. Sit."
But I didn't move. I tightened my fingers around his and took a breath that felt like a leap.
"Lucas," I said, my voice trembling but sure, "I didn't come back for a drink."
The chatter around us dimmed just slightly, as though the ocean itself had paused to listen.
He frowned gently. "Then why—"
"Because I came back to ask you something," I interrupted, my heart pounding so hard it echoed in my ears. "Something I should have said a long time ago."
He blinked, searching my face. "What is it?"
I swallowed, every nerve alive, and said the words that had been burning in me for days:
"Will you marry me?"
The bar went silent. Glasses clinked to a halt, music faded mid-note, and even the waves seemed to hush.
Lucas stared at me stunned, speechless.
"Elara…" he began, voice barely a whisper.
I took another step closer, tears pricking my eyes. "I know it sounds mad. I know I'm married. I mean was married but that love died long before I did. I don't have forever, Lucas. I don't even have long. But I have now. And I want my now to be with you."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. People were turning, watching, whispering. The girl from the bar's kitchen peered out, wide-eyed. Someone from the tables whispered, "Is she proposing?"
Lucas's eyes were glassy, his jaw tight. "You… you can't just say that like it's nothing. What are you talking about, Elara? What do you mean, you don't have long?"
My hand trembled as I opened my purse and pulled out the report. I handed it to him, my heart breaking as his eyes scanned the words confusion turning to disbelief, disbelief turning to pain.
When he looked back at me, his voice cracked. "No."
"It's true," I said softly. "The doctors gave me a week. Maybe less."
He shook his head, stepping back like he could outrun the words. "No, no, you can't this can't be real"
"Lucas." I caught his hand again, pressing it against my heart. "I've spent years loving the wrong person, waiting for a life that never came. But with you… I feel alive. For the first time, I feel like I exist."
Tears slipped down my cheeks. "I don't want to die as a wife who was forgotten. I want to die as a woman who *chose* love. Will you give me that? Will you marry me even if it's just for a week?"
For a heartbeat, no one breathed.
Then, slowly, Lucas's eyes filled not with pity, but with something fierce and bright. He reached for my face, cupping it gently in both hands.
"You don't ask me that," he said hoarsely. "You don't ask.Because you already know the answer."
He kissed my forehead, then my hands, trembling as he whispered, "Yes, Elara. A thousand times yes."
The crowd erupted in cheers. Someone clapped, another whistled, and the kitchen girl came running out with tears in her eyes. Strangers toasted from their tables, raising their glasses to a love story none of them knew but all of them felt.
Lucas turned toward them, laughing through his tears. "You heard her!" he shouted. "She's marrying me and we're doing it right here!"
Applause roared through the air, echoing against the sea.
I laughed a sound that felt wild and young and impossibly free. For a moment, I forgot the report, the sickness, the sorrow. All I saw was his face, his hands, his promise.
He pulled me into his arms, and the world tilted not in despair, but in joy. "I love you," he whispered against my hair.
"I love you too," I breathed.
We stood there, surrounded by strangers who suddenly felt like witnesses to something holy. The sea shimmered, the sunlight broke through the clouds, and for one fleeting, perfect second, time stopped keeping score.
I had thought dying would be the end.
But in that moment, it felt like the beginning.
When the cheering faded and the music started again a slow, sweet tune played by someone's guitar. Lucas held me close and said quietly, "We'll make it the most beautiful week of your life."
I smiled through tears. "Promise?"
He kissed my hand. "Promise."
Somehow, in the middle of goodbye, I had found my forever.