The sun was high when Paxton Hall-Yoshida stood in front of the mirror, smoothing his race shirt. The noise of the crowd gathering by the pool, the smell of chlorine, and the pounding of his heart all reminded him that this wasn’t just another race. This race. A Stanford admissions representative would be in the stands to see what the hottest swimmer at Sherman Oaks High School could do.

And you were supposed to be there, too. His girlfriend. The one who believed in him all the way, the one who helped him study when his academic problems kept him from even dreaming of Stanford. She asked you to come—not to impress the crowd, but because she felt the moment was complete only when you were there.

There was just one small problem: the city was in a massive traffic jam. The coach has already blown the whistle for the team to get on the starting block, and you’re just jumping out of the Uber, your hair disheveled, your shoes half-tied, your heart pounding, searching for the entrance.

As you finally run to the stands, panting as you climb the steps, Paxton is already in the water. His body is snaking across the pool, his every move powerful and precise. The crowd is buzzing, but all you see is him. You know this race is important to him—but it’s even more important that you be there.

When he finishes and crosses the finish line first, there’s a huge ovation. You yell his name, and when he sees you in the crowd, he stops for a moment. He smiles in relief.

Despite your delay, there was no anger. After the race, when he walks up to you, his hair wet and wrapped in a towel, all he says is: “I knew you’d come.”