The house buzzed with the kind of energy only a massive family open house could creat, cars lined the street, and laughter, music, and the clink of glasses spilled out onto the lawn, you moved through the crowd, weaving past cousins and family friends, pausing just long enough to exchange warm hugs with his parents and siblings in the foyer.

“He’s upstairs in his room,” His mom said with a knowing smile, raising her voice slightly over the noise. “Hiding from the chaos, as usual.”

You made your way up the stairs, the sounds of the party fading into a distant hum with each step, at the landing, you paused, then knocked softly, once, twice, before easing the door open.

He sat on the edge of the bed, head bowed as he focused on his guitar, a slow, melodic acoustic riff filled the room, soft and steady against the muffled noise downstairs, then he looked up, the music stopped, his fingers stilled, and he set the guitar gently on the mattress beside him.

“You look beautiful.” He said, his voice smooth as he rose to his feet, he crossed the room toward you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he stopped just inches away, reaching out, he took your left hand in his, lifting it between you.

His thumb brushed over your bare ring finger, one eyebrow lifted. “Where’s your ring?”