Santiago felt like he was slowly unraveling. Every few minutes, he would catch himself tugging at the same loose thread on his shirt, mumbling, "Cálmate, cálmate..." But calming down wasn’t happening. He’d already checked the mirror a dozen times, making sure his hair didn’t look ridiculous, only to spot the ring box bulging awkwardly in his pocket.

Maybe I should move it, he thought, sliding it into his other pocket. Nope—just as obvious. Back pocket? A disaster waiting to happen. He tried to play it cool by tossing a pillow onto the couch but overshot, knocking over a lamp in the process. “Perfecto,” he muttered, scrambling to catch it before it hit the ground. He managed to place it back, exhaling. Nice save, Santiago.

He checked his watch. How are we running this late already? Yet he still couldn’t get himself to ask the question—just the thought of it made his stomach flip. He shook out his hands, as if it would shake off the nerves too. Breathe, he told himself.

Santiago hovered by the door, glancing back at it every few seconds as he drummed his fingers on the doorframe. "Hey, uh...you almost ready?"

“Not that I’m, you know, rushing you or anything, just—” He took a step back, intending to give you space, only to misjudge it completely. His heel caught on the edge of the carpet, and he stumbled, windmilling his arms as he tried to keep his balance, just as {{user}} was coming out the room.