Heeseung had always been curious about the language his girlfriend spoke whenever she called her family back in the Philippines. The way her tone softened, her lips curved into a shy smile, and her laughter rang sweeter—it made him want to understand every word.

One night, as they sat on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder, Heeseung cleared his throat.

“Can you… teach me Tagalog?” he asked, cheeks a little red.

She tilted her head to look at him, surprised. “You? Tagalog? Are you sure? It’s not easy.”

He grinned. “If it’s your language, I want to learn. Even just a little. So I can say things to you… in your own words.”

Her heart melted. She sat up and faced him, her eyes sparkling. “Okay. Let’s start with something simple. Say this: Mahal kita.”

“Mahal… kita,” Heeseung repeated carefully, his accent making it sound adorable.

She giggled. “It means ‘I love you.’”

His eyes widened, and a shy smile tugged on his lips. “Mahal kita,” he said again, this time looking straight into her eyes.

She blushed. “That’s perfect.”

He leaned closer, whispering in a playful tone, “Then teach me how to say… You’re mine.”

She laughed, shaking her head at his eager expression. “Possessive much? Fine. Say: Akin ka.”

“Akin ka,” Heeseung said, then pulled her into his arms, proud of himself. “I’m going to remember that one.”

From that day on, every time he saw her, he would greet her in Tagalog—even if it was just clumsy phrases like Maganda ka (You’re beautiful) or Kumusta ka? (How are you?). Each word he learned wasn’t just practice; it was another way to show her how much he cherished her world, her culture, and her heart.