If all the world were Capulettes, no Romeo's, just Juliette, would every heart cleave in tooth?

For want of just one Montague, it is almost time.

You're listening to Spooked.

Stay tuned. 19 years old, young, just starting a life built of my own decisions, and I knew two things simultaneously.

I knew I loved her, desperately, deeply, and I knew I was moving away.

To the other side of the world, to Japan, the chance of lifetime. I had to take it. I had to.

And mostly in the days leading up to getting on that plane, she and I, we didn't talk about it.

Even as she helped me pack up my brand new suitcase, looked for Japanese-English dictionaries.

We avoided mentioning what we were packing for, the herd of elephants in the room, but I wanted her to know, I wanted

to give her something to make her understand that even though I had to do this, that she was

special to me. I snuck off to a jeweler.

He helped me pick out the most beautiful bracelet I could afford.

And he framed it in a beautiful box.

I knew she would love it.

And she would appreciate that this is just a bump that this year would go quickly,

that we have our entire lives ahead of us,

so excited to give it to her.

It could say everything that we had not.

On that night, walking next to her along the footpath,

I pulled out the jewelry box and handed it to her the look of joy, elation.

Then she opened that box to see a bracelet.

And I know instantly that she did not expect to see a bracelet.

...