Under the First Stars

By late afternoon, the heat had softened and the garden had gone quiet. Our families were already taking their seats beneath the cypress trees, but we had not seen one another since breakfast.

“It did not count down to the ceremony. It held the whole evening together.”

Elena gave me the ChronoAstra that morning. She said the blue dial reminded her of the sky over the valley — the same sky we had watched on our first trip to Italy. I wore it while the final minutes disappeared into buttonholes, handwritten notes, and people knocking gently at the door.

After dinner, we slipped away from the music for a moment. The lanterns were behind us and the first stars were appearing above the villa. Elena put her hand over mine, the watch caught a line of warm light, and everything suddenly felt still.

We remember the vows, the laughter, and the music. But the moment we return to most often is that quiet one after it all: two people, one sky, and nowhere else we needed to be.