- Hospital -

Hope sat by Thomas’ bedside; he had several third degree burns, and it was going to take more than a month of serious recovery for him to be back on his feet.

Hope didn’t care, though. Anything for Thomas; she’d wait centuries if she had to.

Her auburn colored hair gently stirred in the breeze, and she turned her head. On the table beside Thomas’ bed was a leather bound book.

She opened it, and a small note fell out onto her hands.

Dear Hope,

I wish you a happy birthday. We might be at war, but that’s no reason not to celebrate, right?
I want you to write your experiences, or perhaps, a worth – while story in the pages of this diary. I hope you like the present.

With love,
Thomas.

Hope sat there, and looked at the diary, and back again. She smiled wanly.

I’ll write our story.