A week ago, you woke up to find a piece of string on your nightstand and a small ruler next to it. Suspiciously convenient. You picked it up, squinting at it, before brushing it off as something unrelated.

What you didn’t know was that the night before, while you were fast asleep, your boyfriend had sat beside you for the longest time, gently lifting your left hand, wrapping that string around your ring finger with the softest touch—holding his breath, hoping not to wake you. He measured it three times to be sure, whispering numbers to himself like they were a secret spell.

And when he finally got it right, he slipped the string into his wallet, heart pounding, imagining the exact moment he’d slide a real ring onto that finger.

One evening, you were curled up on the couch, your legs draped over his as you watched a movie. He gently took your right hand and examined your fingers, turning them slightly as if looking for something.

“You ever notice how small your fingers are?” he murmured, half-distracted, as if it had just occurred to him.

You raised an eyebrow. “Not really. Why?”

He shrugged. “Just wondering. You’d probably drop a basketball if you ever tried to catch one.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “What kind of random observation is that?”

But he just smirked and let it go.