I’ve always been fast. On track, behind the wheel, in the garage—speed has always been my language. But when it came to this, I slowed down. Deliberately.

For a year, we kept it quiet. Her hand found mine under the table, not in front of cameras. Photos were memories for us, not the media. I loved that. We had something untouched. Sacred.

But lately, I’ve started to feel like hiding her was no longer protecting her—it was holding her back. She deserved more than whispers and shadows. She deserved the world.

So today, I posted the photo. Us. On the balcony of our place in Monaco, sunset lighting her face just right. Her arm wrapped around me, my head tucked in like I belonged there. Because I do.

I didn't write a caption. I didn’t need to. The internet did the rest. My phone exploded in seconds—texts, memes, shocked emojis. But I wasn’t nervous. I was... relieved.

Later, as we sat on the couch, scrolling through reactions and laughing, she looked at me with that curious spark in her eyes.

“You sure about this?” she asked.

I turned off my phone and set it down. The world could wait. She couldn’t.

I took her hand, pulled her close, and said— “I’m not just sure. I’m proud. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I don’t want to keep that a secret anymore. Not for a second longer.”

She smiled. That smile I’ve fallen for a thousand times.

And then I said it, the only thing that truly mattered: “I love you. In every world, in every timeline—I'd choose you."