Chapter 19- Oliver
I never realized how fast a year could pass until Ellie came into my life.
Some days it feels like I met her yesterday — standing in her driveway with my hands shoved in my pockets, trying not to stare at her too long, trying not to let her see how nervous I was.
Other days it feels like she’s been part of my world forever, like every moment before her was just waiting for her to arrive.
Either way… I can’t believe our anniversary is almost here.
I sit on my bed, the scrapbook open in front of me. Pages scattered everywhere. Photos. Ticket stubs. A pressed flower from Crystal Lake. My handwriting — messy, uneven — trying to capture moments that still feel too big for words.
I run my thumb over a picture of her laughing.
God.
She has no idea what she does to me.
I want this anniversary to be perfect. Something that shows her how much she’s changed me.
How much she means to me. How much I care.
I flip to the first page I finished — the one titled “My favorite day with you.” It’s the picture of her sitting by the lake, hair in the wind, smiling at something I said. I don’t even remember what I said. I just remember thinking, I want to make her smile like that for the rest of my life.
I close the scrapbook gently and set it aside.
Next is the necklace.
It’s small — a silver moon charm — but when I saw it, I thought of her immediately. Of Moony. Of the way she kneels down and kisses her head every time she sees her. Of the way she calls her “my baby” even though she’s mine.
I want her to have something that feels like home.
Something that feels like us.
I tuck the necklace box into the basket I’ve been putting together. Blanket. Her favorite candy.
A note I rewrote five times.
The scrapbook.
The necklace.
My phone buzzes.
A reminder pops up:
“Pick up bouquet in three days.”
I swipe it away quickly.
Ellie can’t see that.
Not yet.
I lie back on my bed and stare at the ceiling, letting the quiet settle around me. The room feels different tonight — softer, warmer, like it knows something important is coming.
I think about her dad — how he treats me like family now, how he always asks if I’m hungry, how he claps me on the back like he’s known me forever.
I think about her mom — how she always asks about me on FaceTime, how she smiles when Ellie mentions me, how she tells Ellie to “take care of that sweet boy.”
I think about Ellie — her laugh, her voice, the way she looks at me like I’m someone worth loving. The way she holds my hand like it’s something precious. The way she leans into me when she’s tired. The way she says my name like it means something.
I want to give her a day she’ll never forget.
A day that shows her how much she means to me.
A day that reminds her she changed my whole life.
I sit up again, unable to stay still. My chest feels full — too full — like all this love has nowhere to go until I can finally give it to her.
I pick up the scrapbook again, flipping through the pages slowly.
Our first picture together.
Our first movie night.
The first time she came to Crystal Lake.
The first time she met Moony.
The first time she fell asleep on my shoulder.
Every page feels like a piece of my heart glued down.
I pause on a picture of her holding Moony, both of them smiling at the camera. Ellie’s hair is messy, her cheeks flushed, and she looks so happy it almost hurts to look at.
I trace her smile with my thumb.
“I hope this is enough,” I whisper to the empty room.
Because sometimes I still feel like that scared kid who got his heart broken and didn’t know how to trust again. Sometimes I still feel like I’m learning how to love without fear. Sometimes I still wonder if I’m doing this right — if I’m loving her the way she deserves.
But then I think about the way she looks at me.
The way she holds me.
The way she tells me she loves me like it’s the easiest truth in the world.
And I know I’m doing something right.
Three days.
Just three more days until I get to see her smile when she opens everything I’ve planned.
Three days until I get to show her what this year has meant to me.
Three days until I get to tell her — really tell her — how much she’s changed me.
I lie back again, hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling with a smile I can’t fight.
I hope — God, I hope — it’s enough.
Because she deserves the world.
And I’m trying my best to give her at least a piece of it.