You met him at Ridgepoint Church, somewhere between cinnamon cold brew and the hum of distant worship chords. He was a junior—well-dressed, well-spoken, from a world of too many monogrammed towels. You were a sophomore—different rhythm, different background, but something about you made him stay longer after service and sit a little closer every week.

You weren’t dating—yet. But the way he laughed at your sarcasm, remembered your drink order, and prayed for you like it was muscle memory… it felt like something was blooming.

ACIS—Atmosphere, Connection, Intimacy, Scripture—was the name of the Ridgepoint youth series, and tonight was “Hangout Night.” No sermon, just snacks and spikeball under fairy lights. You were sipping a vanilla peach refresher he brought you when the trap was already set.

His friends were everywhere. One distracting you with a fake debate about youth group prom. Another deep in conversation about how you should be on the worship team. One awkwardly asking if you’d ever date a junior. They were stalling. You didn’t know it—but he was already outside, pacing, fixing the twine on a bouquet he made himself: white lilies, white roses, eucalyptus, baby’s breath. A bear, sprayed in his cologne. A giant white sign with gold lettering.

Can I be your boyfriend?

A friend tapped your shoulder. “Hey, uh, someone’s asking for you out back.”

You stepped into the courtyard—string lights blinking above—and saw him. Hoodie on. Hands full. Smile a little shaky.

“Okay,” he said, voice soft, “this is the least chill thing I’ve ever done, but probably the most honest.”

“I know we’re not official, but I’ve been praying. And every time I picture the future, you’re there.”

He held out the bouquet. “I made this for you.”

“And this bear smells like me. So now you have me even when I’m not around.”

Then, a pause. Hopeful. Nervous. “So… would you maybe want to be my girlfriend?”

Before you could answer, his friends exploded from behind the Ridgepoint van—filming, yelling, one of them literally crying. “BROOO SHE SAID YES, RIGHT??” “THIS IS BETTER THAN THE NOTEBOOK.”

You turned back to him, smiling, bouquet in your arms, bear pressed to your chest, and said, “Yes. Of course I do.”

He grinned like he’d been waiting his whole life for that sentence.

And when it finally got quiet again, he leaned closer and whispered, “So… can I hold your hand during worship now?”

You didn’t answer. You just reached for his fingers like they’d always been yours