Elena Ionita

We’d been walking along the trail, the kind where the snow crunches under your boots and your breath hangs in the air. The bridge came out of nowhere — tall, rust-colored, stretching over the trees like it had been there forever.
We stopped to take a photo, just to remember the view. I held my hand up to block the sun, and that’s when he laughed and said, “Might as well show it off now.”
I looked down, and there it was — the ring. I don’t even remember him pulling it out. One second we were talking about how cold our fingers were, the next he was holding my hand, asking me to marry him.
I said yes before he even finished the question. We stood there for a while, the snow falling in slow motion, the bridge behind us, the world feeling very, very still.
The ring is perfect — simple, solid, and it catches the light like the snow that day. Every time I see it, I think about that bridge, that cold air, and how the whole world seemed to pause for us.
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Elena’s pick
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