The music is already thumping when you finish your eyeliner, but you’re not in a rush. Nate said he’d pick you up at 9:30, and knowing him, he’ll be exactly on time. He always is—somehow both effortlessly cool and irritatingly punctual. You glance at your phone. No texts yet. He’ll probably send a “Princess, I’m downstairs” any minute.

You smooth down your dress, the black one Camila picked out during your last “hot but not obvious” crisis. It hugs you just right—short, but not too much. Cute, but not desperate. You still feel like you, which matters. You’ve always liked attention, just not that kind. You’d rather have friends than flings. Always have.

You glance at the polaroid taped to your mirror: you, Camila, and Liv, crammed into one dorm bed freshman year, laughing with instant coffee in hand. They were your first real home in college. Since day one, they’ve felt like they belonged in your life.

They’re wild, though—late-night hookups, makeouts behind the gym, sneaking out of guys’ rooms. And you? You hadn’t done any of it. Not a kiss, not a drunken dance, not even a cuddle. Not because you didn’t get attention—you were cute, short and curvy in the way people liked. Guys flirted. You just never felt the need to turn that into more. You liked being the friend. The one people leaned on. That was enough.

Until Nate.

You met him last semester. Tall, athletic, golden-boy type. Hockey captain, always surrounded by girls. The kind everyone warned you about. When he flirted with you after a campus event, you figured it was just what he did. So you shut it down.

“Cute,” you told him, “but I’m not looking to be girl number five this week.”

He just laughed. “Fair. I deserved that.”

That’s when you realized he might be different.

Camila swore he was already in love. “Mark my words, he’s obsessed,” she said the night he brought you a smoothie when you had a sore throat. You rolled your eyes. “I’m not even dating him.” “Exactly,” Liv said. “And he’s still acting like you’re his entire world.”

You didn’t believe them. How could you? You’d never even kissed anyone. Why would someone like Nate fall for someone like you?

Then he asked you out. You said no. You were overwhelmed and honestly? Scared. You told him you were stressed. Which was true. Your friends nearly screamed.

“You said no to Nathan freaking Walker?” “I swear, you’re the only person alive who would turn him down. For an econ test?”

But he didn’t stop. He asked again. And again. Not in a pushy way. Just… patient. Until you finally said yes.

And that first date? Perfect. No moves. No pressure. Just him beside you, making you feel seen.

Date after date, he never rushed a thing. It took you weeks to kiss his cheek. Just his cheek. And the way he looked at you after? Like you’d given him the moon.

Weeks later, he stole your first kiss. Soft, careful, like he didn’t want to break you. He smiled, rested his forehead against yours, and whispered, “Worth the wait.”

You gave him everything. And he never once made you feel like you had to. He waited. For all of it. And now, a year later, you’re still together. He brings you flowers on Tuesdays. Carries your books. Stays up late helping you study. Kisses your forehead when you’re falling asleep. Tells you you’re beautiful—even when your hair’s a mess and you’re in old sweatpants.

And the best part? He’s done with the games. He doesn’t even glance at other girls. Not when you’re around. You changed him. Or maybe he was always waiting for someone who made him want to be better.

Your phone lights up. Nate 💙: Outside. Don’t rush. But also… hurry. I miss your face.

You grab your bag, heart fluttering like it always does.

Tonight’s party is at his hockey house. And you’re going with him. Not as a maybe. Not as a friend. But as his. His girlfriend. His girl. His only.