She stood in the open doorframe, arms folded, motioning with her eyes at the scroll nestled under his arm.

No hello then?

He chuckled, ignoring her question, as he shepherded her back inside, closed the door behind them, and hung his coat up on the corner stand at the far end of the hallway.

Her footsteps closed in on him and he turned to give her a hug, as they exchanged their customary combatant greetings.

Geez, your hands are freezing, Matt!

Always great to see you Sal!

You're late, again!

She stared him down, one eyebrow raised. She never released her grip, not when she had a bone to pick.

So, what's the reason, this time then? That thing under your arm?

She growled.

God, she was gorgeous when she was angry, he mused, and he did so love the lilt in her voice. Was she finally breaking?

He didn't need much encouragement. There was just enough curiosity in her tone for him to press further, so he took the rolled-up papers from under his arm, a foil in artful hands, and sparred playfully with her, landing an opportune touch. She swatted back, then ducking and laughing, he prodded once more, before her successful riposte hit home. She once again gave him the eye, and the seemingly tireless accompanying sigh that always followed. But this time... he caught her smile... in her eyes; and maybe, he considered, just maybe, he finally stood a chance.

You'll see...later!

He quipped, grinning.

As he darted from the room to join the rest of the party, he paused just long enough for his parting shot,

oh...and Sal...Happy Birthday!

It was a game that they played... regularly. He would tease. She'd respond. Then ultimately she would pull back and refuse to admit that she was into him... but he knew better. Fate was seemingly shining down on him, and he was never one to give up that easily.

---

What are you still doing here?

Sally sat down on the edge of the garden recliner in the backyard, a glass of wine in hand, the last of her guests, bundled off into cabs, having finally bid farewell to their host.

Waiting for you, of course.

He replied.

Everyone left then for the evening?

Yeah. It's freezing out here, Matt! What are you doing?

It was a great party Sal.

He deliberately sidestepped the question and handed her the shaggy throw that he had retrieved from her sofa a short while beforehand. She took the offering and wrapped it tightly around her exposed shoulders, hugging it closely, and then without much of a second thought, cuddled up beside him, curling her body into his.

---

He let the letter fall and walked over to the origin of the sound.

The 4th of July always reminded him of that night; their night. The night their story had truly begun.

He opened the doors leading out onto the balcony and looked out over the Square. The continuous glow from the light show on display, the alternating spirals whistling through the air in all directions. It should have been magical, but it wasn't. There was no beauty in what he was seeing... nothing that came close to the night in her back garden in Idaho. The night sky may have been ablaze with colour, but it paled in significance when compared to the treasures of that evening, and now... what did it matter anyway... it only served to remind him of the loss that he was grieving.

Are you ok?

She whispered softly, wrapping her arms around him, and resting her head gently against his shoulder as they huddled together, watching the events unfolding before them.

He had no riposte this time. Inside he was numb. His mind, unable to comprehend the experiential flow of thoughts that kept pressing; despite his attempts to push back on them, to deny them. He felt exposed, torn up inside. Like the letter he had left in tatters, floating to the floor in the bedroom; his emotions in pieces, on display to the world.

---

Sal...?

mmm...?

She replied, rather sleepily.

I wanted to share something with you....
Remember the scroll, from earlier?

Yeah... I guess...what about it?

Well it's a map, here let me show you.

He opened the cardboard tube and unrolled the well-worn star chart contained within, illuminating it with the torch from his phone, and spoke with a quiet reverence.

You see those three dots? That right there is the summer triangle. And that dot to the bottom right of the triangle?...That's Vega ... one of the brightest stars in the Milky Way and forty times the brightness of our sun. It used to be the Pole star... always present, reliable, occupying the same piece of sky above the Earth's axis of rotation, and was used to navigate one's way in the darkness of night. One day it will once again take its rightful place. It sits in the constellation of Lyra and every year at this time, an incredible thing happens, Sal,... the Lyrid Meteor shower emanates from that region of space and rains down on the Earth, giving us a spectacular light display... and all we need do to appreciate it, is to look up.

And with that, he pulled her in close, whilst pointing out the position from where the meteorites would originate. Over the next few hours, he traced their bright lines of travel for her with his fingers, as they lay reclining together in the dark, spectators to the beauty of the heavens. Before sunrise, he would once again trace his fingers; this time along the beautiful lines of the woman he would one day call his wife.

---

The flower opened, its petals perfectly manicured; one of many in the blaze of colour rising up to greet him. How could he truly appreciate their beauty amidst the backdrop of the last 4 months? Their juxtaposition was stark, intangible. How many nights had he laid awake under the stars, unable to sleep, unable to dream? How many more would he have to endure before he could once again lie in the comfort of her arms, able to escape the nightmares that pervaded his soul?

The acrid smell still hung in the air, searing the inside of his nostrils. His eyes rose to meet the scene before him. Everything it seemed, was broken. The despair was palpable, and a vile and repugnant aftertaste lingered in the hearts and minds of those still carving out some semblance of life in the cracks and crevices of the city he was trying so desperately to protect. It was ubiquitous.

That 'letter* had broken his heart. Conscription papers. The war had stolen their joy. They had known it was simply a matter of time, but the cruel timing of the first assault on their liberties, the noise of the anti-aircraft fire, the continuous onslaught of missiles swirling green in the night sky on the 4th July, and the endless screams for help, had left an indelible mark on his soul.

He picked one of the blooms and placed it in his buttonhole. He would send a snapshot to Sally later that evening if he survived the day. He huddled down in one of the nearby bunkers, his back squared up against its walls. He was exhausted. He had finally secured the object of his affections, the source of his happiness, the love he had pursued for so many years... and now, everything hung in the balance. Life. Fragility. Faith. Tested.

He closed his eyes, falling into prayer, imploring the Heavens to bring an end to it all. The perfection in the scented petals, a reminder now that there was still room for hope. Despite everything, he would retain his faith. Faith that the darkness would one day subside, that goodness would prevail, and that Vega would, once again, light his way.