I Love You

“Hey, um… you were serious about getting married, right?”

I grinned at his cute, nervous face as he clipped the straps across his body, like he’d done countless times before.

“Dummy. Of course I was. Did last night mean nothing to you?”

He gulped, then nodded, fumbling for words as his cheeks warmed. I couldn’t help but giggle.

“Uh, um… well, yes, you’re right. Um…”

I squeezed his shoulder, silencing him before his youthful energy could get ahead of him.

“Just focus on coming back like you always do. Okay?”

He nodded, exhaling slowly, as if preparing his body and mind for the task ahead. The sticker gleamed proudly on the nose cone - my last one, my final little flower, left from yesterday. I gave his shoulder one more squeeze before handing him the oxygen tube. He took it, clipped it into place, and fastened his mask to his helmet. I gave him the classic thumbs-up; he returned it. I leapt down and dragged the ladder away, listening to the familiar symphony of start-up: starter motor whining, fuel hissing, ignitors clicking, the ignition’s throaty burp as the turbojet roared to life.

The fighter rolled forward, taxiing to the runway with all the grace and menace of a living thing. I followed its movement with my eyes, heart pounding, until it joined its squadmates. One by one they leapt skyward, afterburners screaming across the early morning sky. And finally, the last interceptor - Raffy’s - streaked down the runway, pitching up into the clouds, missiles slung beneath its wings, the sticker probably already gone.

I watched until it was a thin streak above the horizon. My chest tightened a little - not with fear, but with anticipation, hope, and something else I couldn’t name yet. Somewhere out there lay one hundred of my little flowers, each one a flight that had come back, each one a promise. I didn’t think much about the superstition. I didn’t think about the fact that this was my final sticker. And I certainly didn’t know the details of the mission he was flying that day - a mission meant to test the limits of skill, endurance, and luck.

I turned, my heart singing with the joy of the ritual, and walked back into the hangar. The empty sticker pad thumped against my hip, its light weight belying the significance of its emptiness. People glanced at me, some curious, some amused, but all saw my smile and thought nothing of it. I wandered among the hangar shadows, my mind alive with thoughts of flight and danger, of hope and heartbeats, and of the boy who had promised to come back - like always.

And yet, as I waited, there was a subtle stillness in the air, a quiet that felt slightly off. The usual hum of preparation, the clatter of tools, the laughter of the ground crew - it all seemed muted, as though the world had briefly held its breath. I didn’t notice at first. I only realized later that nothing ever really returns the same.