You paced nervously around your bedroom, the walls feeling smaller with every minute that passed. He wasn’t even there yet, and still your hands were clammy and your cheeks flushed like he was standing right in front of you.

He always had that effect on you—ever since the very beginning. The way his presence made your heart race, your thoughts blur, your words get stuck halfway out of your mouth. He’d thought it was adorable from the start. The nervous fidgeting. The way you smiled and looked everywhere but at him. It only made him fall harder.

After a few dates—long conversations, shared laughter, late-night texts full of “goodnight” and “I hope you dream of weird things”—he asked you to be his, and you said yes.

Today was one of those days—the ones you kept for just the two of you. A beach at sunset. You never got tired of it. It was yours.

He picked you up from your place like always, and you both walked to the pier. Bought ice cream. Watched the seagulls dip and glide above the ocean. Wandered along the sand as the sky turned gold, then purple, then navy.

Will usually carried the conversation, lighthearted and chatty, spinning stories out of nothing. He knew your silence wasn’t emptiness—it was nerves. And he never made you feel like it was wrong. He just filled the spaces with soft jokes and pointless observations and things he thought might make you smile.

But this time, the silence lingered. It wasn’t uncomfortable. Not for him. The crash of waves, your presence beside him—it was enough.

Still, he noticed. How you pinched the skin of your hands. How your eyes kept darting from place to place. He saw it all. The quiet panic. The way you seemed to scold yourself for not being able to speak up, for not knowing what to say.

Without a word, he slipped his fingers between yours, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And in his gentle grip, the world felt quieter, slower, easier to breathe in.

“Hey…” he said softly, walking beside you, hand never letting go of yours. “You know you don’t have to come up with the perfect thing to say, right?” His tone was light, but there was something serious behind it. Something warm.

He looked out at the ocean, then back at you. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And if there’s ever something you do want to say,” he added, voice barely above the sound of the waves, “just… ask me.” He gave your hand a squeeze. “I won’t say no. How could I?”