The Promise In This Moment Novels & Stories

“Some men do.” Her eyes were wet but blazing now. “So how do I know you won’t?” I didn’t reach for her. Didn’t soften the truth. “You don’t,” I said quietly. She froze. “But,” I continued, “you’ll know by what I do next. And the next time. And the time after that. I can’t promise you forever today. I can only promise you this moment.” Her breath hitched. “That’s not enough.” “I know,” I said. “It wasn’t enough for your mom either. But it’s where we start.”

He looked up, a glimmer of hope reigniting in his eyes. "You can pay on a monthly basis. I'll give you a 30-day payment term." That glimmer died, replaced by an unreadable expression. "12,000 dollars? That's what you charge your family?" "Family, huh?" I reiterated, savoring the words. "Uncle Liam, do you know what that word means in my book? In my book, treating someone like family means paying them on time, not ripping them off, and not weaponizing blood ties to haggle on prices. I'm sure you know the state of your factory better than I do, Uncle Liam.

"You do not have to thank me. I should be the one thanking you." I asked. "For what?" He answered, "For finally being willing to marry me." Outside the window, the moon was full. The silver bells moved in the wind, ringing softly in the night, as if they were laughing for us.

"We’ll make the most of it." The words lingered between them for a moment, and weighed heavier than she had expected. It wasn't about the city, or the flight from their issues. It was about the promise .the promise that they would make this time with each other count, that they would leave the darkness of the past behind and, for a brief moment, create something new.

That's a promise. Things are about to get interesting.

I didn’t feel the urge to fill the space with noise or distraction. The promise didn’t demand attention. It just held. Later, lying in bed, I thought about how many promises I’d seen broken not because people lied, but because they’d been made from fear. From hope disguised as certainty. From a desire to lock something down before it could slip away. This wasn’t that. This promise didn’t try to secure the future. It honored the present. I wasn’t promising forever. I wasn’t promising perfection. I was promising not to abandon myself while something good was happening.

In that moment, promises hung in the air, unspoken but understood. "I promise," I said, my voice filled with sincerity and determination. It was a promise to fight for her, for us, and to never repeat the mistakes of the past. The weight of my commitment lay heavy on my shoulders, but it was a burden I was willing to bear for the chance to mend what was broken and build a future together.

--- Not promise. --- Just willingness. --- And for now… --- That was enough.

"But I'm not letting go." "Promise?" "Promise." --- E

Not as a burden. As an invitation. And somewhere beyond memory, beyond the dream, beyond all the cycles that had once defined reality— a promise lingered. Not written in a book. Not protected by Pillars. Not guarded by ancient systems. A simple promise carried by ordinary people every day. The promise that no matter how difficult today became— someone, somewhere, would choose tomorrow. And as Ama walked toward the city, toward her friends, toward another ordinary evening— she felt something she hadn't felt in countless lifetimes.