The Anniversary He Couldn't Share With Anyone But Me

On the anniversary of his late wife’s birthday, he booked me just to sit beside someone who wouldn't ask questions. Sometimes silence says everything.

I didn’t know the meaning of the date when he first booked me.

It was late October. A weekday. Quiet. He chose a long booking, paid in full without asking for pictures or a call. Just an address to a private residence tucked along the canal nothing showy, just quiet wealth.

He greeted me at the door in a soft black sweater. Not a single word wasted. No compliments, no bravado. Just a faint nod and a quiet “come in.”

Inside, the lights were low and the scent in the air was faintly familiar sandalwood and something warmer underneath, maybe vanilla. On the dining table were two plates. Already set. Wine breathing in a decanter.

He didn’t touch me.

Not at first. Not for a long time.

We sat down. He poured for me before pouring for himself. Then we ate. Slowly. In silence. The kind of silence that doesn’t ask to be filled.

I felt it in the way he looked at the empty chair across from him. And in the way he held his fork like it wasn’t just dinner, but a memory repeating itself.

I didn’t ask questions.

I don’t rush. And I don’t let others rush me either.

After the dishes were cleared, he took out a record real vinyl and played a song that made the air in the room feel heavier. A woman’s voice, old and soft. French, maybe.

Then he sat down on the couch and simply said, “Can you just be here tonight?”

I nodded.

No games. No seduction. Just presence.

I curled next to him, fully clothed, head resting against his chest. His heartbeat was steady. Slower than most men I’ve met. Like he’d already lived a hundred lifetimes and stopped counting.

Around midnight, he whispered, “She would’ve turned 43 today.”

And that’s all he said.

I closed my eyes, held his hand, and we stayed like two strangers bound not by desire, but by the need for a moment of quiet that didn’t have to explain itself.

He didn’t extend the night. He didn’t promise to see me again.

But he booked me again. Exactly one year later.