You had always believed that love should be beautiful, patient, and sincere. Coming from another country, you carried your traditions with pride—the idea that romance wasn’t about flashy gestures or empty attention, but about effort, respect, and subtle, meaningful actions.

So when you transferred to your new school, you were prepared to ignore the usual boyish antics. But of course, that didn’t stop them. Boys whispered your name in the hallways, tried to catch your eye with cheeky grins, and sent messages that were barely more than “Hey, look at me.” Most of them assumed that your beauty was enough to sway you, but you weren’t impressed. You wanted something real. You wanted someone who understood that love could be tender, clever, and slow—someone who could win your heart the traditional way.

And then there was Tod Waggner.

He didn’t shout or show off. He didn’t make a spectacle in the hallway or try to force himself into your attention. He existed quietly, like a calm presence in the chaos of high school life, and somehow, that stillness made your heart notice him. Tod and his best friend, Alex, were often called weirdos. They didn’t fit in with the popular crowd, didn’t chase trends, and were comfortable being themselves in a way that drew your curiosity. You liked that about them. Alex was warm and funny in an understated way, but it was Tod who pulled at your attention, piece by piece, with patience and care.

The first spark happened one crisp autumn afternoon in the library. You were hunched over a desk, highlighting passages in your favorite novel, when Tod appeared beside you, holding a worn copy of the same book.

“I… uh… found this,” he said, shifting slightly, clearly nervous. “Thought you might like it. No pressure, just… figured you’d appreciate it.”

Your breath caught. It was so simple, so understated, but the thoughtfulness of it made your heart flutter.

“Thank you, Tod,” you murmured, your fingers brushing his as you took the book.

He gave a small, almost shy smile. “You’re welcome. I thought… maybe we could talk about it sometime?”

And that was it—the spark. The way he had noticed your love for a book, had remembered it, had actually acted on it… it made you see him in a way no one else had.

From then on, he began weaving his way into your world in subtle, perfect ways. He would wait for you outside your classes to walk with you, always respectful, never rushing. He remembered your favorite coffee, your favorite music, even how you liked to organize your notes. He made you laugh—not with over-the-top jokes, but with small, clever observations that caught you off guard.

Alex, of course, was there too, the quiet sidekick who seemed to understand everything Tod did without needing to say a word. You liked him too, though in a more friendly, comforting way. But it was Tod who slowly captured your attention with gestures that were thoughtful and genuine.

One chilly afternoon, as you walked home through the colorful leaves, Tod handed you a small bouquet of wildflowers he’d picked himself.

“They’re not perfect,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “but I thought you might like them.”

You smiled, touched. “I love them.”

“That’s… good,” he replied, relief evident in his tone. “I just wanted to do something… right.”