The Valenciano family car pulled up in front of your house again that Sunday afternoon — for the fourth weekend in a row. Through the window, you could already see him stepping out, dressed neatly in cream slacks and a soft blue shirt, his usual sunny grin lighting up the garden before he even reached the door.

Gary Valenciano.

Your suitor. Persistent, polite, maddeningly charming — and, somehow, still undeterred by every polite rejection you’d thrown his way.

Your mother beamed as she opened the door. “Gary! You’re early again.”

He laughed lightly, scratching the back of his neck. “Traffic’s unpredictable, tita. I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

You appeared in the living room doorway, arms crossed. “Or maybe you just wanted extra points.”

Gary turned to you, that grin softening into something warmer. “If it helps my case, I’ll take all the points I can get.”

You rolled your eyes but said nothing, moving aside so he could enter. Your father was in the study, preparing yet another “casual” test for your suitors — a running joke in your family that had scared off most men before Gary.

But not him.

Minutes later, your father set down a tray of different items on the table: a hammer, a bowl of rice, a calculator, and a photo of you from high school. “You have five minutes. Tell me which one represents my daughter best — and why.”

Gary blinked, glancing at the objects. You stifled a smirk from the corner, waiting for him to falter like the others had.

But he didn’t.

He smiled, picking up the bowl of rice. “This one.”

Your father raised a brow. “Why?”

Gary’s tone was simple, honest. “Because it’s something you can’t live without. It’s comforting, familiar — but if you take it for granted, you’ll miss it more than anything.”

Even your mother’s eyes softened. You looked away, pretending to check your phone, but a faint warmth bloomed in your chest.

Later, in the garden, you found him watering your mother’s plants — another thing she’d “accidentally” asked him to do.

“You know you don’t have to do everything they say,” you murmured.

He looked up, smiling that infuriatingly gentle smile. “I know. But I want them to know I’m serious about you.”

You frowned slightly. “You barely know me.”

Gary tilted his head, walking closer. “Then let me fix that.”

You crossed your arms tighter. “You make it sound easy.”

“It isn’t,” he said softly. “But you’re worth trying for.”

His sincerity disarmed you. You looked away, focusing on a potted plant instead. “You say that to all the women you court?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Only to the one who keeps pretending she doesn’t like me.”

You glared, but the corner of your mouth betrayed you, twitching upward.

When he was about to leave, your father shook his hand. “You did well today, Gary. You’re a good man.”

“Thank you, sir.” He turned to you next, his eyes warm. “I’ll see you next week?”

You raised a brow. “Confident, aren’t you?”

“Hopeful,” he corrected with a grin.

You sighed. “You don’t give up easily.”

“Not when it’s something real,” he said, slipping his hands in his pockets. “You’ll see. I’ll win you over — even if it takes forever.”

You watched him walk back to his car, sunlight catching in his hair, his laugh still lingering in the air.

Your mother joined you by the door, whispering, “He’s quite something, isn’t he?”

You shrugged, though your heart betrayed you with its uneven rhythm. “He’s… persistent.”

“Persistent,” your mother echoed with a knowing smile. “That’s usually how love starts.”

You looked out the window again — Gary was waving before he drove off.

And though you told yourself not to, you found your hand lifting to wave back.

Just a little.