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The cool morning air was perfect for gardening, when the sun was not yet high and the only sound in the neighborhood was that of early birds.
He took the watering can from a small toolshed they had built years earlier; filled it with water, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and slowly walked toward the garden.
It had all started with a small pot, nearby a window in his home.
Then the plant had grown larger and larger, until it became too big to keep indoors, and the whole thing had been transplanted outside.
Now, every corner of the garden had become like a quilt of stars—hundreds, thousands of jasmine flowers, between those in full bloom and those about to open.
The air all around was filled with a delicate fragrance, which had become the very essence of that house, of their existence itself.
Zayne smiled, looking around with an expression of genuine satisfaction.
It had all started with a single bud, a single flower, and now, after years, he could admire the result of his care.
Their care.
A voice behind him called his name—a voice softened by age, but still carrying the same sweet, ringing tone it always had.
He set the watering can down and walked slowly toward the door that opened onto the garden.
The woman held onto the railing of the porch as she descended the steps, but his hand immediately reached out to help her.
With a tired smile, she accepted the offer, her slightly bony hand squeezing his—histouch steady and reassuring as always, even after all the years since the first time she held it.
“When I didn’t see you in bed, I was afraid you had started without me.”
Zayne shook his head with a faint chuckle, gently squeezing her hand a little more.
“I could never do such a thing, sweetheart.”
Once she had come down, with some effort, she leaned on his arm as they walked together once again toward their jasmine.
The vines had grown wildly over the years, now covering almost an entire side of the house and the low wall that bordered the garden.
As they did every morning, they tended to the dried branches and leaves, pruning when necessary; then, as they always did in summer—once or twice a week depending on the weather—they watered the roots.
The watering can was the same, but each time he used it, it seemed heavier than the last.
She noticed the grimace on his face and placed a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, since he sometimes struggled to hear her voice.
“Maybe we should replace it... It’s a bit too big to fill and kind of awkward to use. Why don’t you use the garden hose instead?”
Zayne listened, then turned to look at the old watering can in his now slightly trembling hand.
She wasn’t wrong—there were simpler solutions to water the garden, ones that didn’t require constantly going back and forth to the toolshed with that now weathered and worn container.
But his mind went back to the day he had held it for the first time, decades ago—almost a lifetime.
It had been one of her first gifts to him, after she had visited his home for the first time:
“One day, it might grow too big to stay inside. With this, you’ll be able to take care of it better in your garden, who knows.”- she had said.
He ran his bony fingers over the now-yellowed plastic surface, and his lips curved slightly into a smile.
“I couldn’t possibly… the jasmine might notice the difference. You know how sensitive it is—you should know it well by now.”
She laughed softly, shaking her head.
“I think the jasmine would be more offended if you couldn’t water it anymore, no matter what tool you use.”
Zayne chuckled gently in return as they finished tending the garden, sweeping up leaves and branches to be discarded.
Just a few more months and winter would return, and like every year, he would hope the jasmine would survive the frost and hardships of the season, being ready to bloom once again when spring arrived.
That evening, after a simple meal she had prepared, they treated themselves to something sweet—something they hadn’t done in a while.
“I was almost convinced you had completely hidden all the sugar from the pantry.”
“Eating too many sweets at our age isn’t healthy, Dr. Zayne. Who would know better than you...”
Diabetes, inflammation, cavities... he shook his head to himself. Maybe he had taught her a little too well over the years, and now it was coming back at him.
“You took a small slice—have some of mine.”
“I’m not very hungry. Besides, I made it for you.”
“Things are sweeter when shared.”
He replied, transferring part of his slice to her plate.
She smiled and didn’t protest, dipping her fork into the dessert and bringing a bit to her lips.
“If someone had told me years ago that one day you’d willingly share your longed-for slice of cake with me...”
He answered with a smile in his eyes, the hazel color of his irises still vivid despite the passing years.
“I’ve willingly shared a life with you—of the many I would’ve wanted. Sharing a piece of cake is nothing in comparison.”
A book in each of their hands, comfortably tucked under the covers before sleeping.
A habit established over the decades, one they couldn’t give up even if they wanted to.
He flipped through a book about recent natural discoveries in the Arctic—her anniversary gift from a few months earlier.
Out of the corner of his eye, he tried to see what she was reading, putting on his thick-lensed glasses to see better.
Slowly, he focused on the images—photos of the two of them, noticeably younger and with fewer wrinkles, though he couldn’t complain about her still-soft, aging skin.
“Someone’s feeling nostalgic, I see...”
She flipped through the pages, occasionally caressing a photo with a happy and melancholic expression.
“Every now and then I like to open it and see that, after all, it doesn’t feel like a whole lifetime has passed since those pictures were taken.”
A series of photos from a photo booth, a selfie from their first mountain trip together for his birthday, clippings from the Linkon Today newspaper collected and kept over the years... a photo of two rings on a cushion, a photo of a cradle, a retirement party... the book of a life, a life captured in countless snapshots, moments frozen in pixel and paper.
They looked through the photos together, occasionally commenting with excited smiles as a particular photo brought back a memory.
As they revisited those years together, a thought surfaced in his mind—but before he could give it voice, she beat him to it:
“Would you go back in time?”
“To do what, exactly?”
“I don’t know... relive a moment, change something. Make different choices...”
Zayne paused to reflect, as he absentmindedly took her hand, his thumb brushing the wedding ring on her finger.
His eyes lingered first on the ring—its intricate design of diamonds shaped like small jasmine flowers—then he looked into her eyes, smiling gently.
“If I changed something, maybe we wouldn’t be here now. And if we’re here, I’m fine with everything. I’m happy to live in the present. As for the future... I can’t predict it yet. But I’m okay with that.”
A warm feeling brushed her heart as she instinctively leaned on his shoulder while they sat in bed.
Soon after, they settled under the covers, lying beside each other, in the same positions as the first time they had ever shared that bed.
In the dim light of the room, their silvery hair reflected the moonlight.
She chuckled softly, seeing his hair still neatly combed in the same way.
“Looks like your Evol decided to gift you a head full of snow after all.”
A quiet laugh escaped Zayne’s lips, and in response, he reached for a jasmine flower from the small vase on his bedside table, tucking it into her hair, gently moving a strand behind her ear.
“Yours, on the other hand, seem to have drawn inspiration from our garden.”
The flower, white as snow, blended perfectly into her silvery hair, spread across the soft pillow.
“My eternal jasmine flower.”
Since that day years before, when they first met within hospital walls, to afternoons spent together, childhood memories, years apart followed by a reunion that almost seemed fated.
Shy beginnings, feelings that grew slowly, like the jasmine’s vines by the window.
A first kiss in the snow, the fear of losing each other—but the certainty of always being there for one another.
Promises, dreams fulfilled—sure, some difficulties too—but also faith in the future.
That’s how they had put down roots in their home, just as the jasmine slowly did in their garden—a life that blossomed and grew day by day, even after all those years.
He leaned slightly toward her, a delicate kiss filled with years of love and life—a gesture now part of their routine, one he would never give up, until the day their winter came.
“Goodnight, my love.”