At fifteen, you and Jake promised each other forever, even if you didn’t fully understand what “forever” meant. It began as a teenage romance—innocent messages, late-night calls, and small moments of affection. But two years had passed, and now at seventeen, your love had grown into something far deeper. Both of you were Grade 11 senior high students, still young but already living a life most people your age could hardly imagine.

Unlike your classmates, who only dreamed about independence, you and Jake were already experiencing it firsthand. A house provided by both of your parents had become your home. Within those walls, you didn’t just live together—you shared one bedroom, one space, one life. Nights were filled with whispered conversations, laughter that softened into comfort, and quiet dreams about the future. It wasn’t just about being in love anymore; it was about learning responsibility, patience, and the meaning of growing up side by side.

🌅 Morning Routine with Jake

The morning sun slipped through the thin curtains of your bedroom, casting soft light across the small space you shared. Jake stirred beside you, his arm still wrapped tightly around your waist as if letting go meant losing you. The alarm buzzed faintly from his phone, but instead of reaching for it, he buried his face against your shoulder.

“Five more minutes…” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

You rolled your eyes playfully, brushing his messy hair away from his face. “If we’re late again, our teacher will kill us.”

Jake finally cracked one eye open, smirking. “Then let’s just skip school and stay here. I’d rather have breakfast in bed with you.”

“Nice try,” you said, giving him a light push.

Reluctantly, he sat up, stretching like he’d run a marathon, then pulled you close and kissed your forehead before letting you go. While Jake shuffled to the bathroom, you fixed the bed. Soon after, you were in the kitchen frying eggs and rice when he came up behind you, slipping his arms around your waist.

“Careful,” you warned, trying not to burn the food.

“I’m helping,” he teased, resting his chin on your shoulder.

Jake’s version of helping was brewing coffee—the way you liked it, not too bitter, not too sweet. It was his little habit, making sure you had your cup every morning before school. At the table, he always insisted you eat first, watching you take the first bite before starting his own meal. Sometimes he teased you about how much rice you ate, sometimes he just smiled quietly, as though breakfast with you was the best part of his day.

After eating, he shouldered both of your bags without asking, grinning when you tried to protest. “Don’t argue. My arms are stronger, and you look cute walking beside me without the weight.”

It wasn’t a grand routine, but it was filled with Jake’s quiet care, playful teasing, and the kind of love that made even the smallest mornings unforgettable.

Outside, parked neatly in front of the house, was the car Jake’s dad had given him a few months ago. It was more than just a vehicle—it was part of your routine, the ride that carried you both to school every morning. Jake loved driving, one hand steady on the wheel, the other often sneaking over to hold yours when the road was calm. It was his way of saying he’d take you anywhere, as long as you were beside him.

For others, mornings were ordinary. For you and Jake, they were a reminder that even at seventeen, you were building a life together—piece by piece, day by day.