The question, so honest and unguarded, makes Julian suppress a laugh that wants to break free. He shakes his head gently, eyes softening.
"She's undeniable," he says simply, and the truth of it lingers in the quiet space between them.
Saturday. Early morning.
Julian's eyes snap open in the dim hush of his studio apartment. He lies still for a moment, listening to the silence before pushing himself upright. The sheets slide down his bare arms as his gaze drifts toward the window.
Outside, the city sleeps beneath a veil of dark blue, streetlights glowing like scattered stars. The world feels paused—still, unbroken, almost holy.
Eugene's wedding today, he reminds himself, the thought landing with a quiet weight.
He swings his legs over the side of the bed and moves quickly—running shorts, jersey, Apple Watch, shoes. The door closes softly behind him, and the cold bites the moment he steps out.
The lake park is already awake in its own way. A handful of runners glide by, their breath curling white in the frigid dawn. Julian falls into his rhythm, his footsteps soft against the pavement, breath even, controlled.
The world slowly stirs as he runs. The horizon shifts, pink and gold bleeding into the dark. His chest warms despite the bite of winter, and when he finally slows, hands on his hips, he's sweating.
He stops near the water's edge, watching as the sun rises—slow, inevitable, radiant. Something about it catches in his chest, something old, almost painful.
This sunrise…
His mind drifts to a hundred years ago. He was here and is here. Kakki cap pulled low, black jacket and pants, worn boots crunching on frost. Watching the same sun, the same lake.
Fifty years ago—1970s—walking this same path, people bustling past him, unaware of who he is… or what he is.
Those people now? They're old. Wrinkled faces, slow steps, grandchildren clinging to their hands. And Julian is still thirty-five. Unchanged. The same man who stopped aging a century ago.
He tilts his head back, staring into the sky, and the thought rips through him.
God, my Father… I'm always this age. I never change. But Grace… she will. She'll grow old. She'll leave me. And I'll be alone again… won't I?
His jaw tightens, breath trembling as he exhales into the cold. A knot swells in his throat, sharp and raw.
Please… wake her up. Please, Father. I don't know how much time I have with her. Probably just enough to lose her again. But while she's here—while she's breathing—I want her with me. I want to stay with her as long as I can.
The words leave him like mist, dissipating into the morning air as the sun crowns over the horizon, burning gold on the water. Julian's shoulders sag with the weight of a century's loneliness—just as the light washes over his face, pulling his eyes closed for a fleeting, aching moment of hope.
It's 11 a.m. when Julian pulls into the wedding hall parking lot. The morning sun glints off the polished hoods of cars, the faint hum of celebration already in the air.
He steps out, adjusting his blazer, and heads toward the elevator. Along the way, people in formal attire pass by—women in elegant dresses, men straightening their ties, the perfume of excitement lingering around them.
The elevator dings open on the ninth floor, and as the doors slide apart, a wave of warmth and noise hits him. The lobby bustles with chatter and laughter, guests in their best clothes greeting one another with bright smiles.
And there—standing at the entrance to the wedding hall, tuxedo crisp, face glowing with joy—is the groom of the day. Eugene.
A small, genuine smile tugs at Julian's lips as he takes it all in. Behind Eugene, a white sign draped in flowers proudly reads
Julian steps forward slowly, weaving through the crowd, but he doesn't call out. He waits—lets the moment breathe—as Eugene continues shaking hands and bowing politely to relatives and old friends.
Then Eugene turns, spotting him.
"Hey!"
Eugene's grin widens, eyes lighting up, and he moves in for a hug.
Julian meets him halfway, the two sharing a firm, warm embrace before pulling back, smiles still lingering between them.
"You look incredible today, Eugene," Julian says, voice low but sincere. "The groom of the day. Congratulations."
Eugene's smile stretches even wider. "I was waiting for you to come. You're my best friend, man—I couldn't start this without you here."
Julian chuckles softly, shaking his head.
Nearby, a group of Eugene's old high school friends glance at Julian, their expressions shifting from polite curiosity to surprise, even admiration. His tall frame, sharp jawline, deep-set eyes, and calm demeanor draw their attention naturally.
Eugene notices their stares and laughs.
"Let me introduce you! This is Julian—my best friend."
One of them steps forward eagerly.
"Oh, you're Julian. I've heard so much about you!"
Another smiles warmly.
"So nice to meet you."
"You're even more handsome in person than Eugene made you sound," one of them jokes lightly, the group laughing.
Julian offers them a shy but warm nod.
"Thank you."
After greeting Eugene's friends, Julian steps into the wedding hall, his footsteps slow and deliberate as his eyes travel across the grand interior. The air feels different here—brighter yet intimate, the hush of anticipation lingering under the soft murmur of guests.
He makes his way down the central aisle toward the stage where the MC's podium and microphone await him. Overhead, the ceiling lights shimmer like starlight, their glow blending with the warm tones of the floral arrangements and ivory drapery cascading from the walls. The hall itself feels alive—a mixture of shadows and brilliance, a place where joy and sacredness meet.
The sight pulls at something deep inside him, and memories surface, unbidden.
Hannah.
He sees her as clearly as if she were standing there now—wearing that casual white short-sleeved shirt and black pants, leaning against the balcony railing of their old mission house, eyes tracing the dark city skyline. Her voice is quiet but certain, almost vulnerable.
"I want to get married pretty soon, now," she had said, her gaze fixed on the glimmering lights below.
Back then, June—his real name, the one almost no one uses anymore—had simply smiled at her.
"All right. That sounds nice."
He hadn't asked who she meant; he already knew. The answer was in her eyes, in the way she clutched her arms like she was protecting something fragile and beautiful inside her.
She had only smiled in return, legs stretched out, heels crossed, looking like she could hold the whole world and still feel a little lonely.
A voice calls him back to the present.
"June!"
Julian turns instinctively. For a split second, the name startles him—it has been years since anyone spoke it aloud.
Eugene stands there, smiling with the easy warmth of a man on his happiest day.
"I call you Julian in front of everyone else," Eugene says with a sheepish grin, "but I wanted to call you by your real name once. Just us."
Julian's lips curve slightly, and he shrugs. "Thanks."
"Thank you for doing the MC for our wedding. Karen and I really appreciate it." Eugene's smile widens as he adjusts his cufflinks nervously. "After all, you introduced Karen to me. Without you, this wouldn't be happening. It had to be you up there."
Julian chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, let's pray I don't mess it up. I've never done this before."
Eugene laughs and claps a hand on Julian's shoulder—a familiar, brotherly gesture.
"You'll be fine. You've got a voice people want to listen to. And more importantly… you have the heart."
Julian looks at him for a long moment, something unspoken passing between them.
"You've always had a heart that loves God, Julian. A heart that loves people. No one knows me like you do. You were there for me when it counted. Those missions… those nights when we didn't even know if we'd make it out alive… you were always there."
Julian's mind flashes—dim alleys in faraway countries, gunfire in the dark, and terrified faces of those they'd rescued from traffickers. Eugene's shaking hands holding his Bible under flickering lights, whispering prayers into chaos.
Julian exhales and nods gently.
"All right. You should get back to the lobby and greet your guests."
Eugene grins, that same unshakable optimism radiating from him, and heads out.
"Thanks again, June… I mean, Julian."
And just like that, Julian is alone in the vast, beautifully adorned hall. Guests begin trickling in, their voices mingling like soft wind in a chapel. He watches them quietly, then turns back toward the empty podium.
He places a hand on it for a moment, steadying himself, and closes his eyes.
Father… bless this marriage. Bless their love. Keep them safe from the storms of life, like You've kept me all these years.
His lips barely move, but the prayer fills him, warm and grounding, as though the years and memories and sorrows in his immortal heart all bend, just for this moment, toward gratitude.