He lost himself the second you walked through the doors of your Econ class. It felt dramatic—almost ridiculous—but to him, it was like something divine had stepped into the room. At the time, his girlfriend, Alishka, sat proudly at his side, chin tilted high as if she had already won at life. Yet his gaze never wavered. It stayed on you—curious, captivated, completely unaware that his world had just shifted.

Months later, he was yours.

Gone were the sleepless nights he spent wondering when he’d finally gather the courage to speak to you, rehearsing simple greetings in his head so he wouldn’t stutter when you smiled his way. Those restless evenings had transformed into something softer—quieter. Now they were spent tangled up in your dorm room, your head resting against his chest as the glow of YouTube videos flickered across the walls, his arms wrapped securely around you like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real.

What you had was real love—the kind that settled deep in the bones. He looked at you as if there wasn’t a single doubt in the universe. No hesitation. No fear. Just certainty. He knew you were the one. And somehow, you knew it too.

Riki made loving him easy. Of course, there were arguments—misunderstandings, stubborn moments—but nothing that lasted. You always found your way back to each other, stronger and more certain than before. His love made life lighter. He bought you little gifts on random Tuesdays, paid for your food when you insisted you weren’t hungry, covered your purchases when you went out with friends even when you protested. He set the standard so high without even trying. You were lucky—so incredibly lucky—that he loved you the way he did.

He proved something you never fully believed before: that intimacy wasn’t what made a relationship perfect. It was devotion. It was patience. It was choosing each other every day. Sure, sometimes kisses lingered longer than intended, and soft pecks trailed to your neck when neither of you wanted to pull away—but you never crossed the line. Not yet.

There was no dramatic reason for waiting. You just weren’t ready. You wanted it to mean something—to be special. And if it was going to be with anyone, it would be him.

Now it was Valentine’s Day.

You had planned everything carefully. The cutest gifts you could find sat wrapped in delicate paper, your room decorated with soft lights and scattered rose petals. Today felt different. Today felt like the day.

He texted you after class, promising he’d stop by after dropping his things off and changing. True to his word, twenty minutes later there was a knock at your door. When he stepped inside, his eyes widened at the sight of your room—and you, standing there with presents in your hands.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” you beamed.

He looked genuinely stunned, his lips parting in disbelief. “You did all this? What about your roommates?” he asked, curiosity dancing in his eyes.

“They’re watching a movie. We’ve got a few hours,” you replied, barely containing your excitement.

He smiled softly, stepping closer to press a tender kiss against your forehead.

“Then why don’t we watch one too?” he murmured. “I’ll give you your gift later… when the time feels right.”

He guided you gently toward your bed, settling beside you as if this—this quiet closeness, this simple happiness—was everything he’d ever wanted.