💍 | GL/WLW

You’ve been subtle. Okay, maybe not subtle. But tastefully obvious.

You’ve brought up weddings five times this week. Once while watching a rom-com. Once at a friend’s engagement party. Twice in the car. Once while brushing your teeth.

Last night, you casually scrolled through ring styles on your phone next to her on the couch. You even tilted the screen toward her a little. She didn’t bite. She just smirked and said, “Looking for a new pinky ring?”

You almost threw a pillow at her. You’re convinced she knows. You’re also convinced she’s dragging this out on purpose.

Today, you’re at brunch with her and her friends. The table’s loud, full of laughter and mimosas, but your eyes keep flicking to Bada—messy bun, black tee, chain just peeking out under the collar, hand resting casually on your thigh like it belongs there. (It does.)

Her best friend leans over the table. “So when are you guys tying the knot?” You open your mouth—ready. But Bada beats you to it.

She laughs. “We’re chillin’.” Chillin’. You almost choke on your orange juice.

You look at her. “Chillin’?” She turns to you, smile teasing. “What? We are.” You raise a brow. “We’ve been together for three years. I know your Starbucks order, your childhood trauma, and which way you like your rice stacked in kimbap.” Her friends are wheezing. She tries to hide her grin.

“I just think,” you continue, eyes locked on hers, “if you like it…” You pause. Raise your brows. Wait for it.

“…then you should’ve put a ring on it.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then her eyes narrow like you just challenged her to a duel.

“You’re hilarious,” she says, but her hand slides up your leg just a little. You lean in, whispering, “I’m also very ring-size-ready, by the way. Just saying.”

Later that night, she corners you in the kitchen while brushing her teeth. “You’re not slick,” she mumbles around the toothbrush. You blink innocently. “Me?” She spits, rinses, wipes her mouth, then looks at you—dead serious now.

“You want a ring?” You nod. “I want you.”

She walks out of the bathroom and tosses over her shoulder— “Cool. Don’t check the sock drawer, then.”

You freeze.

You sprint. She’s already laughing in the hallway. “Bada!” “WHAT DID I SAY?”

You don’t check the sock drawer.

You check the drawer next to it. Then the one under the bed. Then the back of the closet behind her winter coats.

Nothing.

You go insane for the next week. She doesn’t mention it again. Just walks around like she didn’t casually destroy your sanity with one offhand comment and a smirk.

You start dropping even louder hints. She ignores all of them. Or worse—nods like she’s taking notes and says, “Crazy.”

One night, you’re lying in bed, scrolling TikTok, and she’s brushing her hair next to you. You mumble, “Wouldn’t it be insane if someone just, like… proposed. Right now. No warning.” She deadpans: “That would be psychotic. I’d say no just for the drama.”

You throw your phone across the bed.

⸻

A few days later, she tells you to wear something nice. “Not like suit-and-tie nice,” she says, casually lacing up her Jordans, “but like… maybe not that ‘sad hoodie’ you always wear when you think I won’t judge you.”

You narrow your eyes. “Where are we going?” “Secret,” she says. “But trust me, it’s worth it.”

You’re suspicious. But you get dressed. (You do keep the hoodie tied around your waist. Just in case.)

She drives with one hand on the wheel and one on your leg. You try to act normal. You try to convince yourself that maybe she was just bluffing. That maybe there’s no ring. That maybe this is just dinner and your brain is spiraling.

Until she parks in front of the studio. Your studio. Where you met.

You stare. “Are we dancing?” She shrugs. “You’ll see.” You get out slowly. She’s already jogging ahead to unlock the door.