My father once told me a story about a young man who lost his heart to a black-haired beauty. Many weeks went by before the young man dared to speak to his secret love. And again so much time until she listened to his declarations of love and, with a radiant smile on her cherry-red lips, agreed to accompany him to the cinema. James Dean seduced the hearts of the ladies with his penetrating gaze and sensual lips. Immersed in a decade of finding and searching for being, the urge to find his way in a new world after war and destruction, years of suffering and hatred. The people in the room listened to the words of a man long dead and my father watched the features of his beloved in the flickering light of the black and white film. Gentle shadows and the waves of her hair framed the angelic face. Time stopped for him and it was clear that the mother of his children and the love of his life was sitting there.

Exactly as my father described it, I feel the same right now. My world also stopped the moment my trembling fingers opened the lid of the small black box. Agonisingly long seconds pass into minutes, turning into hours and before you know it, days and a whole year pass. Magnus stares wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the box in my hands. I concentrate on my breathing, trying not to lose control. The waiting is tearing me apart inside. The slightly scratchy sound of the record player's needle still doing its rounds on the old vinyl is much louder than I remember. The singer's voice, on the other hand, sounds strangely hollow, as if he doesn't belong in this time. The intense smell of the fir tree is just as present as the trembling of my hands and the drumfire in my chest.

Charlotte snuggles close to Magnu's body. Sobbing, she has thrown herself into his arms, like a familiar soul she clutches my friend, while Magnus has protectively wrapped his arms around her small body. Again and again I hear Clary murmuring, interrupted by a loud blowing of her nose, and Izzy's joyful squeals confuse me. Magnus still doesn't say a word and uncertainty about my choice of gifts gathers in my chest. Pressing heaviness, questions about whether it was right and not too soon after all. To me, it felt right. I couldn't resist the urge and saw the silver hoop already on his finger.

Magnus, however, does not move a millimetre. He sits on the floor in front of me in a kind of shock stupor, looking at the two rings in my hands.
"A rainbow," Charlie suddenly says aloud. A tear escapes Magnu's eyes and just as I'm about to put my hand on his cheek and catch the wet salty tear, I hear his sweet voice.
"A beautiful rainbow," he whispers, hugging my goddaughter even closer to his now quivering body.
"Uncle Alec loves you very much," Charlie replies seriously, looking Magnus in the eye and breathing a tender angel kiss on his cheek.
"And I love Uncle Alec very much." His words make me breathe a sigh of relief. Had I forgotten to perform this vital function? Nervous and close to a breakdown, I seek support from my loved ones and falter as I catch Izzy's dreamy gaze.

Her smile is positively beaming with the lights of the Christmas tree and there is so much love and affection in her gaze that I have rarely seen. She presses an object firmly against her chest, Raphael gently strokes her small hands and when she places the square something on her legs, I hold my breath in surprise. I see myself and Izzy on the ice rink of the winter wonderland. In the background, the festively decorated gigantic fir tree and the twinkling star on its top. This moment is so present, not only on the paper which is protected behind glass for eternity. The memory of this day is also dripping in my head. It was the second time I saw Magnus. And the first time after a very long time that I stood on skates again. I also remember laughing and my fingers clawing for support. An afternoon full of favourite relaxed people around me. Biting cold and a cup of steaming deliciously aromatic apple punch.

Magnus must have taken the photo of us. He had his camera with him, as he did every time I met him in snowy Central Park. Suddenly I remember our conversation from two days ago when we met spontaneously and much too briefly in the little café opposite the hospital. He was talking about photos for his project work and I think looking at one of them right now. The picture is beautiful. The rich colours are radiant, the red of Izzy's coat dominates as does my head tilted back into my neck and the boisterous carefree laughter that leaves my throat. I can almost hear it, the glide of the blades over the frozen ice, Izzy's teasing words and the excited joyful shriek of my beloved goddaughter.

"Are you okay Alec?", Raphael asks me and I wake up from my stupor and the memory of this special day. I nod briefly and my gaze moves on to Clary. In her hands she holds the same picture frame as Izzy. She lovingly strokes the glass surface with the tips of her fingers. Her muffled sobs testify to grief and pain is on her face. Despite her teary eyes and salty beads running unhindered down her carriage and bursting on the glass in her hands, her gaze speaks of infinite love and affection. A strange sight, joy and sorrow. More and more tears leave her eyes, she doesn't even try to stop it. Next to Clary lies another frame, but the picture is not visible. A sad pile of torn wrapping paper lies around it. The drawn snowman winks cheekily at me and only slowly does the information reach me. Three photos. Three frames. The carefully wrapped present on my lap.

Gently I let my fingers glide over the shiny silver paper. Slightly rough and sparkling. Small stars and big ones, no snowman, but my name in beautiful curved letters. I am nervous and open Magnus' first Christmas present with trembling fingers. Immediately my breath catches and I think I understand why Clary is crying so heartbreakingly. Meanwhile she is lying in Izzy's arms and Charlie is still sitting on Magnus' lap. I look into the mysterious eyes of my best friend, coldness overtakes me and tickling goosebumps cover my body. My throat is dry as dust and I swallow painfully. It's been two years since Jace was taken from us, he's missing every single day and life is somehow no longer complete without him. My heart tightens convulsively, it just hurts.

"Jace," I whisper, gently stroking my beloved friend's face. The glass is smooth and cold under my fingers. I close my eyes briefly, tears pressing burning against the barrier, but I don't allow them to surface. Magnus seeing me like this, broken down, close to the brink of a nervous breakdown and my body tensing from crying and sobbing, is the last thing I want.
"Dad always looks out for us," Charlie says. I nod and take one deep breath before opening my eyes and looking into the worried face of Magnus. Uncertainty is in his gaze. He still hasn't said a word about the rings and I'm far too upset to form a clear thought.
"How, when? I mean... fuck Magnus. How did you do that?", I ask him. Magnus gives me his most adorable smile and I can literally feel the tension leave his body.
"Do you like it? It's kind of a photo montage. I took the picture of Jace. The morning after our date and yours was easy. It's the first picture I ever took of you. But I didn't really notice you until I developed it. But you really blew me away. The idea came to me spontaneously and I asked a fellow student to help me. So far I haven't dealt with this kind of editing. It's not my style. I'm more oldschool and take photos without filters and editing software. Jace's photo doesn't match my artistry either. But together we made it work. Imasu is really talented in this field. Do you know when I took that picture of you?" Yes. I can guess. In Central Park. The day the choir had sung and I saw Magnus for the first time. He was standing next to my sister and she had noticed him too.

"Yes. I remember. It was also the first time for me. You were standing next to Izzy and Rapha and I wanted to talk to you so much," I answer in a raspy voice. It is the last picture that shows Jace in all his beauty and power. Magnus has pasted the photo of me as if I were standing next to Jace on the sandy ground in the desert of nowhere. When I close my eyes I feel the heat of the sun on my skin, feel the strength of my childhood friend, taste the crunching sand between my teeth carried to us by the desert wind and hear the hissing sound of the approaching bullet. The sniper hit Jace right in the heart, a shot as advertised in every textbook and no one could have saved Jace. Not even me, if this image were reality. But that is not the case and even though the memory and Jace's death still hurts every day, I cherish the hope that he is still with us with a part of himself.

"I miss him," I say softly.
"Thank you so much Magnus. Unbelievable. It's like he's still here."
"I'm glad you like my gift. And from the reaction of the lovely ladies, I'm guessing you like the gift too. Did you know that post mortem photography was very popular in the 19th century? Dying, like life, took place in the home environment and often these were the only photographs of the loved one. The practice of memorial portraits, called mementum mori or mourning portraits, has all but died out. It has not been done in the same way since the end of the 19th century. The infant mortality rate was very high and so babies and small children were often photographed together with siblings, their mother or their favourite cuddly toy. Adults were placed in armchairs or propped up with special apperatures. Sometimes you can see them in the photos. And you can also clearly see who the deceased was, once you know what to look for. Last semester we had a guest lecturer on the subject and I really fell in love with her. I hung on Mrs Blackwell's every word and read everything I could get my hands on on the subject. For some, this may be repulsive and disgusting. But I think it's important for the relatives to have a memory. Because at some point the images fade in the mind. And photographs help us to preserve them. My mum... She's sad a lot and I wish..."

"Who did you lose?" asks Izzy and I look at her reprovingly. It's hard not to notice that Magnus is currently overcome by a painful memory. He kneads his hands nervously, trying to keep his composure and failing miserably. Charlie wipes the tears from Magnus' cheeks, I place my hand on his, stopping the maltreatment of knuckles that crack dangerously unhealthy.
"Izzy, what are you doing?", I admonish my little sister. She is so insanely curious. But that doesn't stop her from stroking Magnus' back comfortingly. I squeeze his hand tightly and Magnus smiles lovingly at me.
"Thank you," he forms tonelessly.
"It's okay. My sister. Putri was barely two years old when she died. My parents have a photo of her. She must have been about six months old then. It's on the altar next to pictures of different gods, candles and her name means princess or daughter. I was eight when she was born and the only photo is now fading. As soon as I graduate, I want to work for Mrs Blackwell's organisation. She has a network of photographers all over the country. When a family calls her, Mrs. Blackwell contacts a photographer nearby."
"Diego Rosales, for example. He's been to our ward a few times to accompany grieving parents. You really want to do that?" asks Izzy.

"Yes. I want that. Of course, I also need a real job to pay the rent for the rathole of a flat. The photographers do it on a voluntary basis. And I would be proud to be a part of that. I want to support grieving parents in the healing process. It's an important step. Losing a child is the worst thing that can happen." Devoutly and silently we listen to Magnus' narration and when he ends, still no one says a word. Magnus is a wonderful person. He is loving and funny. He can melt any iceberg with his smile.
"Oh my god Alec. Is that a ring? Are you proposing to Magnus?", Clary suddenly yells and I flinch, startled.
"What?", I ask irritated, wiping my face to chase away my tears and clear my head. What is she talking about?
"Are you sure about this? This is a big step and you basically know each other ga..."
"Clary," my sister interjects, upset. She was by my side when I bought the ring. It was coincidence or fate. We were on our way to a textile printing shop to pick up the aprons for the event with the Indonesian celebrity chef when I suddenly stopped in front of a small shop.

The shop window shone in the most beautiful colours of the rainbow and I smiled at the colourful arrangement. Two rings lay on a black velvet cushion. One of the rings had a silver outer surface and hidden inside was a rainbow. Not visible to the outside world, but the wearer of this beautiful piece of jewellery would know it was there. The other ring was the counterpart. Silver on the inside and radiant on the outside. For minutes I stood in front of the illuminated shop window, little diodes of glaring light sparkling like snowflakes, and I imagined Magnus wearing this ring. It was a spontaneous decision and the nice goldsmith so incredibly young. His brown hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck and over his ears. Dozens of sparkling rings on his slender fingers hypnotised me as I watched him calmly and precisely engrave inside the jewels. I was so happy and Izzy giggled at my coloured cheeks the way she said. I told the goldsmith about Magnus and how we met, how much I adored him and hoped he would like my choice.

"No. I'm not proposing to Magnus. What makes you think that?", I ask her.
"A box? Two rings? That looks like a proposal to me," she explains her assumption. Energetically, I shake my head. No. It's too early to propose, even though my heart is screaming for Magnus to be the one.
"Not yet," I say softly, looking into Magnus's teary eyes. Did he think I was going to propose?
"Magnus, oh God don't get me wrong. I love you and I want to be with you. But it's too soon for marriage."
"At least it would save me from more nights in my rat-infested flat," he replies with a shrug, and whether consciously or not he ignores the fact that I have just confessed my love to him.