Killian Jones sighed deeply as he watched the morning sun invade the old roman market. His writer's mind wandered back to an era where Trajan's Market would have come alive at this time of the day, the epicenter of the Roman life at his very core. He could picture a young gladiator making his way through the crow, his eyes searching eagerly for the blond figure that he hadn't seen in years; the war had come between them and took him away to the front in Germania, where he'd fought bravely just to survive, so he could come back to her, hold her in her arms and never let go.

Like in every other tale he'd written or mentally plotted for the last ten years, he looked like the gladiator and the blonde figure was the exact replica of the memory he had of her. The memory he'd held in his heart throughout a decade. The woman whose last name was a mystery to him.
Emma.

He'd met her ten years ago as he toured around Amsterdam with his backpack and bumped into her in the middle of Museumplein, her nose buried in her tourist guidebook while she was looking for the Van Gogh museum. He was immediately drawn to the way her cheeks blushed when he'd pointed at the building right in front of her.

He hadn't planned to go into the museum, but when he saw her heading to the queue, his feet quickly followed before his mind even registered what he was doing.

And they were never apart for the rest of the weekend. They toured the city, visit the museums, walked the tiny streets and got lost in the view of the channels at night, when the reflection of the lights on the water seemed to dance around their eyes.

"Tell me your last name…" He begged her when he finally kissed her, his body pressed to hers on a secluded bench in Vondelpark.

"What fun would that be?" She replied teasingly, her breath catching in her throat as his mouth toured her collarbone, his hands wandering on her hips.

"I'll invent one for you then," he whispered, his lips lingering up her neck. "What about Swan?" He breathed the word against her ear and she moaned as she pulled him closer to her.

"I like it." She said as she brought his lips against hers before drowning in him.

When he woke up the next morning, she was gone. A note was on his jacket pocket. "Killian, let's leave this as a memory of a great weekend. It will be better than trying to make a long distance relationship work only to resent each other in the end. I'd rather remember you like this: perfect blue eyes underneath the starry night. Take care, Emma."

He never saw her again. He had no way of finding her. For the past ten years, all he could do was write about her and close his eyes and conjure the image of his Swan in his mind.

He smiled as he signed copy after copy of his book, making small talk with the readers that had waited in line for hours to meet him. He took a moment to lift his head and inspect the crowd of readers that had gathered in the cozy bookstore. As he scanned the room, his eyes focused on her. Like a vision, like his mind had conjured his memory alive, standing at the door of the bookstore. It couldn't be. Could it be? And then she looked at him and gave him a smile he had not seen in ten years. It was her.

Emma. His Swan.

She waited for him, sitting in one of the chairs that were spread around the bookstore, her legs moving nervously as her fingers fidgeted with the worn copy of his novel she held. She'd read it time after time, reading each line of the love story, her mind filling in the blanks and reaching the hidden meaning behind each word: the loss, the heartbreak, the desperate search for the one that ran away.

And she could feel it all, because she'd regretted her decision the moment she was back at her home and missing him wasn't a feeling that was fading away, but it grew stronger each day that she went without him.

So she put that feeling in the back of her mind and her heart, accepting it as the companion for her lonely nights; and she moved on with her life. Time and life went by, a year, two, then five and finally one day, as she toured around a bookstore she found herself looking at his blue eyes staring at her from the back cover of a book. She hastily looked for the name, for the last name she so stupidly refused to learn ten years ago: Jones. Killian Jones.

A five minute online search was enough to show a book sign itinerary around Europe. She'd missed Paris and Amsterdam (she'd love to find him in Amsterdam) but she had a chance to reach Rome. A five minute browse booked her a flight and she rushed to her house, hoping on the first taxi she found, her fingers already searching for the first page of the novel.

Five days later, here she was, waiting for him to finish his book signing; wondering if perhaps she'd read too much into his novel. If, perhaps, she had projected in his words what she wanted him to feel, what she had been feeling.

And suddenly, he was standing in front of her, a smile on his face, little creases around his eyes, his forget-me -not blue eyes that she had never been able to forget looking awestruck at her. She stood up slowly, her own lips curving into a smile as he reached for a lock of her hair and tucked it behind her ear.

"You found me, Swan." He said.