Dating the golden Stanford athlete came with its own kind of gravity—one that pulled attention, whispers, and stares from every corner. Art shined like sunlight through leaves, impossible to ignore, and wherever he went, others followed. Girls brushed past you with soft apologies and sly smiles, hoping for a moment alone with him. In the beginning, it hurt more than you admitted. But time, as it tends to, softened the sharp edges of jealousy, taught you to let his brightness illuminate instead of burn.

Still, the best part was that he had been yours from the start of college. Not by chance, but by something that felt written. You met where your worlds collided—on the court—and from that moment, it just made sense. A perfect rally. When your focus drifted from campus life to your academic dreams, Art never hesitated. Tennis might’ve mapped his path, but you were part of the journey. So once a month, the San Francisco International Airport turned into a familiar rhythm: check-ins, security gates, and the low hum of departures. Your life stitched itself into travel, into waiting rooms and boarding passes.

You’d learned to make every place feel like home. Whether it was a red-eye to London or a quick hop on a private jet, little rituals began to bloom in unfamiliar cities. Favorite restaurants that welcomed with warm smiles. Bookstores with staff who always had the newest releases ready. A marble bench near gate 24B that became a quiet refuge, always cool and steady beneath worn jeans and Art’s hoodie.

“Still packing your entire closet for a two-day trip?” Art teased, leaning against the doorframe with that easy grin. His tennis bag was slung over one shoulder, red Stanford logo catching the light like a quiet reminder of next semester exams.