you’re not looking for a boyfriend. not anymore. you’ve had enough of heartbreaks, mixed signals, and men who think “what are we?” is an attack. you’ve seen it all — ghosters, gaslighters, one guy who brought his mom on your second date. never again.

then riki shows up.

riki, who walks into your life like he owns a lease on your emotional stability. he’s tall, charming, and suspiciously confident for someone who still says “silly goose” unironically. you’re skeptical. you eye him like you would a weirdly enthusiastic gym trainer — cautious but mildly intrigued.

he tells you he wants something serious. serious, he says, like he’s applying for the position of “last boyfriend you’ll ever need.” you try to scare him off. you mention your commitment issues and your habit of crying during car commercials. he doesn’t flinch. in fact, he nods and says, “me too. the dog in the truck ad? brutal.”

you ignore his texts for three days. he replies to your silence with a meme of a raccoon holding a heart. you cave. curse the raccoon.

dates with him feel weirdly safe. no games, no “i’ll see if i’m free,” no disappearing acts. he texts back fast. he brings snacks. he remembers your coffee order and your dog’s birthday. who does that?

you keep trying to find red flags. there must be one. but all you find are green flags and the color of his hoodie that you’ve accidentally stolen.

you’re still not looking for a boyfriend.

but somehow, you’ve got one. and his name is riki.