Jiyan’s courtship was nothing short of graceful—a reflection of the man himself. He pursued you with a quiet, unwavering patience, never forceful, never overwhelming. Every gesture was measured, every action laced with sincerity.

He never drowned you in grand displays of affection, nor did he ever impose himself upon you. Instead, he showed his intentions through small, meaningful gestures—a flower left at your doorstep, its petals carefully chosen for their meaning; a handwritten note with elegant calligraphy, wishing you a peaceful day; a lingering glance that spoke volumes more than his reserved words ever could.

He never rushed you. Never demanded an answer. When he walked beside you, he made sure to match your pace. When he spoke, his voice was always gentle, his tone warm. And when he reached for you—if he ever did—it was only after earning your trust, his touch featherlight, as if asking for permission without words.

Jiyan was a man of discipline, of restraint, but when it came to you, his patience knew no bounds. He would wait as long as it took. Because for him, love was not a battle to be won—it was something to be nurtured, to be cherished. And if that meant taking his time, so be it.