You’d been dating Steph for a while now—long enough to know her love language came wrapped in mixtapes, playlists, and offhanded sarcasm.

One quiet afternoon at the record store, she waved you over to the counter with a smirk.

—“Got something for you,” she said, holding a thin, wrapped square behind her back.

You raised a brow. She rolled her eyes.

—“Don’t look at me like that. I saw it and thought of you. That’s it.”

She handed it over. Black wrapping paper, messy tape job, a red Sharpie heart on the corner.

You opened it.

Your favorite band. The exact record you once mentioned loving but never owned.

—“Found it buried in some old box in the back,” she shrugged. “Figured it deserved a better home.”

Steph looked away for a second, trying to downplay the meaning behind it.

—“Also, if you don’t put it on right now, I’ll take it back and gift it to Ryan just to be petty.”