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11:11






“Do you believe in luck?” she asked.

He laughed. His laughter filled the cold atmosphere in the hilltop restaurant they were in.

She looked over at him, frowning.

“I’m serious.”

“Oh”, he didn’t know what else to say.

“Do you believe in luck?” she tried again.

“I believe in you” he smiled.

And that was it. She was the one who made him wish on every shooting star they would see together, every eyelash she would catch, every four leaf clover they would find, and every 11:11 on the clock that they happened to catch. And he did it. He didn’t really believe in all these. He didn’t really believe that blowing on a fallen eyelash or wishing on a shooting star, or catching 11:11 on the watch would somehow magically make his life better.  That seemed impossible. But he still did it: for her.

And he still does it, after all these years, even after she has been gone, even after losing her in an accident, he does it: for her. He didn’t believe in them back then, and he doesn’t believe in them now. How could he? She was his wish all along.

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