"Our Number"
- Gabrielle Marie Kelley
- Sep 23
- 4 min read
In this intimate and poetic tale set against an autumn backdrop, an adored wife reflects on the magic of her love story with her husband, Anthony, a romance forever marked by the number 704. Their night is filled with passion, nostalgia, and ritual as they celebrate their love and the small, beautiful coincidences that tie their lives together.
A Word from the Author
"I wrote this story for a writing contest in the fall of 2024. The contest called for the author to be creative with the number 704; this number had to appear in the story. I decided to not just make a reference to the number, but to make 704 the couple's lucky number. Not only does the number appear multiple times in various ways throughout the story, but the story also itself is made up of only 704 words.
I took a page out of the book of French writing techniques, and I created a very ordinary autumn scene while using the mundanity of life to amuse the reader. The story is told in first person from the perspective of the wife who goes loved, but unnamed throughout the entire story.
I didn't win this contest but, recently, I shared an excerpt of Our Number on TikTok and received a request to share the story in its entirety. I hope you enjoy this little story and be sure to tell me what you think in the comments below!
Happy Reading,
Gabie the Author
(AUDIO COMING SOON)
CONTENT WARNING: This story explores themes of sexuality. Reader discretion is advised.
On our rooftop garden overlooking the city, Anthony grabs my hands and gently pulls them over my head; his movements are always so soft. The warmth of his body, a comforting cover to the crisp night air. The stars resemble fireflies on velvet, velvet as smooth as his thrusts. So intentional. “What is the time, my love?” he whispers. As my back arches and my body erupts in a symphony of pleasure, I turn to peer into the living room where a digital clock anchors the collage of photographs of many beautiful moments. The clock reads 7:04 PM.
My grin reflects double the satisfaction. “Our number”, I whisper back to him.
It was 7:04 PM when I first met Anthony, in a quaint bookstore tucked away on 704 Birchwood Avenue. I was lost in the pages of a novel, as usual, oblivious to the world around me until his voice, warm and kind, asked me for the time. I thought, “Who asks for the time in 2019?” His curious and inviting eyes quickly disarmed me. Our conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving through literary obsessions and personal anecdotes. He told me he was a writer. I discovered he was indeed a beautiful storyteller with a penchant for life’s subtleties. Ever since that fateful night, he would continue to narrate our story; each word creating the fairytale of our lives together.
“And she slept happily ever after…she came.” he jokes as I begin to doze off in his arms.
“We should get ready, my love, if we don’t want to be late.” I allow him to lift me to my feet, and he keeps his hand on my lower back guiding me through the doors. I know the way; this is our home. A home of memories imbedded in the walls like handwritten love letters penned by us both. We’ve lived here for exactly 1 year and 339 days and at midnight, we intend to celebrate the 704th day of our lives here together. Another one of Anthony’s amorous ideas. I love him.
Our dinner reservations aren’t until 9:30 PM so we stroll through the city aimlessly. We stop by a booth displaying fresh flowers and Anthony’s gaze goes directly to the white rose bouquets. He knows that white roses are my favorite.
“Excuse me, how much for the rose bouquet?” he asks the vendor. She smiles, delighted by his polite Prince Charming demeanor.
Anthony turns to me and catches my amazed expression when she says they are on sale for $7.04. He grabs my waist pulling me in for a kiss as if to commemorate the moment and hands the woman, who is now beaming, a twenty-dollar bill and begs that she keeps the change.
The meal is deliciously flavored with our heartfelt exchanges. Anthony sits opposite me but insists that my hand finds his from time to time from across the table. His fingers play with my palm, my ring, my wrist. His eyes grow more and more loving and lustful with each sip of wine. He looks at his watch.
“Wow, time really flies when you’re having fun. It’s a quarter ‘til midnight! Let’s get out of here and head to our spot.” I agree and gulp down the last sip of Pinot Noir in my glass while Anthony signals the waiter for the check. Thankfully, our spot is only a 10-minute walk from here. The spot where we had our first kiss.
It looks just as it did that night. The trees are showing off their autumn colors. The water glistens under the moonlight. The air is fresh. Anthony begins to recite the same poem he recited that night:
“Before our lives divide forever,
While time is with us and hands are free,
(Time, swift to fasten and swift to sever,
Hand from hand, as we stand by the sea)
I will say no word that a man might say
Whose whole life’s love goes down in a…”
He kisses me, caresses the back of my neck with his thumb on my chin and waits until my eyes open to meet his.
“What is the time, my love?”
I glance down at his watch, and just as I do, the hand strikes twelve.
Discussion: I intentionally excluded specific landmarks in this story. Where did you imagine the story taking place?
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