Leah wandered through the mall.
Shop after shop.
Nothing felt right.
She looked at clothing stores first. Shirts, jackets, scarves. Colors too bright. Styles too casual. Nothing that spoke to him.
She moved to accessories. Watches, bracelets, wallets. Sleek, expensive, flashy. Nothing.
Even home goods—candles, ornaments, mugs. Nothing.
Her stomach sank a little.
She was supposed to find a gift for Izana.
Something meaningful. Something perfect.
And she had… nothing.
Families passed by.
Children laughing. Parents carrying shopping bags.
A little boy tugged on his mother's hand, holding a tiny plush bear.
Leah froze, watching him.
Her throat tightened.
A pang of longing struck her.
It had been over two years since she lost their child.
Since Izana had gone missing.
Since they had tried again… and failed.
She shook her head slightly, trying to push the memory away.
She couldn't give up.
Not yet.
Not today.
Her eyes scanned the street again.
And then she saw it.
A small jewelry shop tucked between bigger stores.
The window was simple. Elegant. Clean lines.
And there it was.
A necklace.
Manly, yet refined.
A small tag hanging from the chain.
Her heart skipped.
"That's it," she whispered to herself.
She knew it the instant she saw it.
Simple. Meaningful. Perfect.
She walked toward the store.
The bell above the door jingled as she entered.
"Good afternoon," said a gentle voice.
Leah looked up.
A middle-aged woman stood behind the counter, smiling.
"Hello," Leah replied softly.
"Are you looking for something in particular?" the shopkeeper asked.
Leah's eyes went straight to the necklace in the window.
"That one, please," she said, pointing.
The shopkeeper nodded, retrieving it carefully.
She placed it in front of Leah.
"Beautiful choice," she said. "The tag can be engraved if you'd like."
Leah's lips curved into a small smile.
"Yes. Please."
The shopkeeper prepared the engraving tools while Leah studied the necklace.
Simple. Clean. Strong.
Like Izana.
"What would you like on it?" the shopkeeper asked.
Leah thought for a moment.
"I + L," she said softly.
"And on the back… mine."
The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow, smiling.
"For him?"
"Yes… my husband," Leah replied quietly.
The woman's smile softened.
"And how long have you been married?" she asked.
Leah paused.
Technically, the arranged marriage had been three years.
But the real proposal, the real marriage… just three months ago.
She took a breath.
"…three months," she said.
The shopkeeper nodded and began engraving the tag.
Leah's fingers fidgeted slightly.
She watched the letters slowly appear.
I + L.
Perfect.
A pang of warmth spread through her chest.
She imagined Izana wearing it.
Quietly. Reserved. Private. But always close to her.
He would glance at it.
Maybe think of her.
A small, rare smile would tug at his lips.
She could almost see it.
Her heart fluttered.
The shopkeeper glanced at her, then back to the necklace.
"Do you want me to add anything special on the back?" she asked gently.
Leah shook her head slightly.
"No… just mine. That's enough."
The woman nodded, finishing the engraving carefully.
"There," she said, sliding the necklace into a small box.
Leah held it in her hands, feeling its weight.
Small. Simple. Perfect.
Not flashy. Not expensive. Just… meaningful.
Exactly what she wanted for him.
Leah handed over her card, paid, and thanked the shopkeeper.
She smiled softly as she left the store.
The mall seemed brighter now.
The lights reflecting off the windows felt warmer.
She breathed in deeply, holding the bag close.
For the first time that morning, she felt calm.
Satisfied.
She walked toward the exit, careful not to bump into anyone.
Dante was leaning casually against the car, arms crossed.
"You look happy," he said, smirking.
Leah held up the bag.
"I think I found it," she said softly, smiling faintly.
"Found what?" Dante asked, raising an eyebrow.
"My gift," she said.
He grinned.
"Let me guess. Something expensive?"
"No," Leah said, shaking her head. "Something meaningful. Something simple."
Dante's smirk widened.
"Of course it is. You've been wandering the mall like a detective for hours."
Leah laughed quietly.
"Not hours," she said, but her smile betrayed her.
"You were dramatic, though. I saw it," Dante teased.
"I was just trying to find the right thing!" she said, mock offense in her tone.
"Right thing, huh?" Dante asked, raising an eyebrow. "I hope he notices how stressed you were."
Leah smiled faintly.
"He'll like it," she said quietly.
Dante's expression softened.
"He will," he said. "He always does."
Leah climbed into the car, holding the bag on her lap.
Dante opened the door for her, brushing his hand lightly against hers.
She buckled her seatbelt, smiling faintly.
"Did it feel right when you saw it?" Dante asked.
"Yes," she said softly. "I just knew it was the one. Simple… elegant… like him."
"Good," Dante said. "Simple, meaningful. Exactly what he'll want. You didn't overthink it too much, did you?"
"I tried not to," she said with a small laugh.
"Sure," Dante teased. "You're hopeless sometimes."
Leah laughed quietly, shaking her head.
"I just want him to… feel it. When he sees it. I want him to know I thought of him."
Dante nodded, understanding.
"He'll know," he said. "He always knows."
The car moved through the busy streets.
Leah's thoughts drifted back to the mall.
To the families, the laughter, the children.
To the quiet longing she carried.
But now she had done it.
She had found something small.
Something personal.
Something intimate.
Something that was theirs.
A connection she could hold until she gave it to him.
A secret she would keep in her hands until the right moment.
Dante glanced at her from the driver's seat.
"You did well, Leah," he said quietly.
"Thank you," she replied softly.
She held the bag on her lap, fingers brushing the surface.
She could feel the weight of it.
Small. Perfect.
Exactly like him.
And she smiled again, thinking about the moment she would hand it to him.
When Izana would look at it.
And just for a second, let that rare, soft smile show.
The thought made her heart flutter.
The necklace was more than a gift.
It was a promise.
A reminder.
A small piece of her love, quiet and constant, for him.