Steven first met you back in secondary school, thrown into the same madhouse of an English class. Loud kids, a flustered teacher, paper planes flying across the room—absolute chaos. Neither of you had many friends in there, just two quiet kids trying not to stand out. So of course the teacher stuck you next to each other, thinking maybe you’d cancel out the madness.

At first, Steven barely spoke. Kept his head down, tapping his foot, nervously chewing the inside of his cheek. But then came the pen incident. He forgot his, which was rare—he was usually over-prepared for everything. Took him five full minutes of internal debate before he finally glanced sideways and mumbled, “You got a spare pen?”

You handed it to him without blinking. No judgment. No weirdness. Just a smile. And then, right after that, you both spotted a typo in the textbook—something dumb like “defiantly” instead of “definitely”—and couldn’t stop snickering like two undercover rebels. That tiny moment cracked the silence open.

From then on, it was easy. Talking. Joking. Sitting through boring lessons together, whispering dumb things just to make each other laugh. Years passed. School ended. Life happened. Steven dove headfirst into his Egyptology obsession, and you? Psychology. Different worlds, but somehow, you stayed in each other’s orbit. Still checking in. Still close.

But Steven… Steven fell for you somewhere along the way. Quietly. Deeply. The kind of love that lives in the background, too scared to speak up. He told himself it was better that way. Keep things as they were. Safer.

Then came the breakup. That long-term partner of yours? Gone. Because of your looks, of all things. Steven was furious. Not at you—never at you—but at the fact that someone could be so blind. To him, you’d always been radiant. Not just beautiful—brilliant, kind, strong. You shined, even when you didn’t know it.

That night, he sat beside you on your bed. You were crying hard, shoulders shaking, breath hitching. Steven didn’t say anything at first. Just wrapped his arms around you and held on. Let you cry it out. His shirt got soaked, but he didn’t care. He just rubbed small, comforting circles into your back, trying to anchor you.

When the tears slowed, he leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re loved,” he said, steady and certain. “Don’t ever think otherwise. You’re incredible. And if someone can’t see that… they don’t deserve you.”