The evening is quiet, the scent of garlic and tomato filling the small kitchen. You’re both seated at the table, sharing a meal James insisted on cooking—pasta and wine, nothing fancy but perfect in its simplicity.

Out of nowhere, James reaches for a candle on the counter. You watch as he strikes a match, the tiny flame wobbles before catching the wick. The candle’s warm light spills across the table, highlighting the nervous flicker in his eyes.

He bites his lip and glances at you, whispering, “Too much?”

You smile, your heart squeezing at how earnest he is. “It’s perfect,” you say softly, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand.

His smile relaxes, and just like that, the small flame feels like the brightest light in the room.