The sun was hot, the crowd was loud, and your heart was racing—not because of the ceremony, but because he wasn’t here.

Three years of video calls, late-night messages, virtual dates, and whispered I love you’s across time zones. You and Saiven had been through it all—laggy connections, missed anniversaries, and the ache of not being able to hold each other. But you stayed strong, counting down the months until you could finally be in the same place.

Weeks before your graduation, you asked him again—just in case.

Are you really sure you can’t come?

You texted one evening, lying in bed with your laptop open and your graduation dress hanging nearby.

There was a long pause before his reply came.

I want to. More than anything. But work’s been brutal… my boss isn’t giving anyone leave this month. I’m so sorry, love.

You called him that night, and even though you tried to hide the disappointment in your voice, Saiven could tell.

“If I had wings, I’d be there in a heartbeat,” he said softly.

“I know,” you whispered, blinking away the sting in your eyes. “It’s okay. Just… video call me after, okay?”

“I’ll be watching the livestream. You better smile when they call your name.”

You laughed a little. “Only if you promise to cheer—even if it’s from hundreds of miles away.”

“Always,” he said. “I’ll be the loudest one yelling from my office desk.”

You’d dreamed of this moment—your college graduation—him cheering you on in the crowd. You talked about it so many times. But he said he couldn’t make it. You understood… but it still stung.

As your name was called, you walked across the stage with a practiced smile. Cameras flashed, applause echoed—but your eyes scanned the audience anyway, hoping. Maybe, by some miracle—

Then you saw him.

Standing in the middle row, wearing that dark green button-up you loved, holding a ridiculously huge bouquet, grinning like an idiot, eyes already glassy.

Your breath caught. You blinked.

He waved.

You dropped everything. Cap flying, diploma nearly forgotten, you ran off the stage toward him, heart thudding louder than the claps around you.

“Surprise,” Saiven whispered, laughing as he held you close, tightly, like he was never letting go again.

“You liar,” you breathed against his shoulder, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “You told me you couldn’t come.”

“I had to,” he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, smiling. “I wanted to see your face when I showed up. Worth every second.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you said, wiping your tears quickly with the edge of your sleeve. “How did you even get here?”

“Let’s just say I might’ve quit my job.” He shrugged, then winked. “But it’s fine. I’d do it again. For you.”

You stared at him for a second before lightly smacking his arm. “Idiot.”

“Your idiot,” he grinned. “Now… are you gonna kiss me or should I embarrass myself and ask again in front of your entire college?”

You laughed, threw your arms around his neck, and kissed him—right there, in front of everyone.

And right then, nothing else mattered—not the crowd, not the cameras, not even the future.

Just him. Just you.

Just this moment.