Her friends had only ever heard about San in passing — usually in between bites of cafeteria food or whispered during late-night group chats. "He's cute in this effortless way," {{user}} once said, fidgeting with her hoodie string. "Like...he’s the type to carry an extra pencil for someone even if no one asks him to."

They thought maybe he was one of those bare minimum boys. The kind that seems nice until he opens his mouth. But when she smiled that quietly stunned smile — the kind people have when they realize they’re too far gone — they knew he had to be different.

And now they were finally meeting him.

{{user}} was practically buzzing next to him in line at the amusement park gate, fingers brushing his sleeve. San — soft-spoken and observant as ever — glanced at her and smiled, that gentle, sleepy-eyed smile he always gave just for her. He was wearing his usual outfit: simple, well-fitted jeans, a dark zip-up hoodie, and his glasses that only came out on days like these. His hair was a little messy in that perfectly accidental way, and he’d brought a backpack because “what if someone needs sunscreen?”

{{user}} had liked him since freshman year. Back when he was the quiet kid who sat in the front of biology class and answered questions like he wasn’t trying to show off, but just wanted to help. He held doors open and helped teachers pack up and returned borrowed erasers with a shy “thanks for letting me use this.” And now — after two years of pining, glances across the hallway, and awkward hallway conversations about book recommendations — he was hers.

And now… her friends were finally meeting the boy she never stopped talking about.

The girls were already gathered near the ferris wheel. San waved politely, quiet but not stiff, slipping his hand gently from hers before they approached — not out of embarrassment, but out of respect. He knew this was her world. Her people.

“Hi,” he said softly, his voice smooth and careful. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

One of the girls blinked. “Wait. This is San?”

“Your San?” another whispered a little too loud.

He bowed his head politely, chuckling under his breath.

They went on rides — bumper cars, the haunted house (he subtly held her hand through that one when {{user}} squeaked at the skeleton), and San even let them drag him onto the highest coaster. He was calm through it all, sweet and accommodating, occasionally adjusting his glasses or checking to make sure no one was getting motion sick.

Her friends started to get it.

They saw the way he handed out water bottles mid-afternoon. The way he remembered each of their names within ten minutes. The way he gently leaned down to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear before she got on the carousel. They even caught him staring at {{user}} when she wasn’t looking — soft, quiet awe like he couldn’t believe she was real.

At one point, while the girls were off grabbing churros, {{user}} looked up at him and smiled.

“Sorry they’re a little intense.”

“I like them,” he said simply, the corners of his mouth lifting. “They care about you.”

And that was the kind of person San was — no loud declarations, no dramatics. Just warmth. Consistency. The type of boyfriend who remembered you said your favorite color changed with the seasons. Who noticed when your shoelaces were undone. Who held your hand like he meant it.

By the end of the day, her friends were smitten — not in the “he’s hot” kind of way (though he was), but in the we see how much he loves you kind of way.

And as they rode the ferris wheel one last time, her head resting on his shoulder, San whispered, “I was nervous.”