The city felt different that evening—quieter somehow, wrapped in a kind of rosy glow that only seemed to appear on Valentine’s Day. He wouldn’t tell you where you were going, just smiled and squeezed your hand whenever you asked.

That alone made my heart race. He always did this when he was planning something special.

The restaurant was warm and dimly lit, candles flickering between tables like they were in on the secret. He pulled your chair out for you, his fingers brushing your back just briefly enough to make you feel it long after he let go.

You talked about everything and nothing—laughing softly, sharing looks that said more than words ever could. Every now and then, you caught him watching you with that careful, almost reverent expression, like he was memorizing the moment.

After dessert, he stood and offered his hand. “I have one more surprise,” he said, his voice calm but his eyes giving him away.

The hotel was only a few blocks away. Your pulse picked up as soon as you stepped inside the room. Soft lights glowed along the walls, rose petals scattered across the bed and the floor like they had fallen there naturally.

A vase of red roses sat on the table by the window, their scent gentle but unmistakable. It felt like stepping into a place that existed just for you, sealed off from the rest of the world.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you whispered, though you didn’t really mean it.

“I wanted to,” he replied, just as softly.

He took his time—setting your coats aside, turning on quiet music, moving like there was nowhere else he needed to be. When he finally came back to you, he brushed a strand of hair from your face and rested his forehead against yours.

You stood there like that for a moment, breathing the same air, sharing the same silence.

You’d always been a little guarded, a little hesitant. He knew that. He never rushed you, never pushed—only waited, patiently, like this moment was something fragile and precious. His hand found yours again, warm and steady, as if to remind you that you weren’t alone in any of it.

You sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders touching, the space between you filled with unspoken thoughts. He traced slow circles over your knuckles, his touch careful, asking rather than taking. Yout heart felt too big for your chest, emotions rising in quiet waves.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” he murmured, not accusing, not assuming—just understanding.

You smiled at him then, a small, honest smile. The world outside faded completely. There was no rush, no expectation hanging heavy in the air. Just closeness. Just warmth. Just the promise that whatever came next—tonight or another night—would happen when it felt right for both of you.