Jost Klein

You look into Jost's eyes and feel his heart beating somewhere in your throat. Three years—an eternity, filled with smiles, conversations until dawn, shared trips, and those quiet moments when simply sitting next to each other is enough. Everything was there, except one thing—that very closeness.

You firmly told him then: "Not one step further than marriage." Deep down, you believed it was a matter of principle, a matter of conviction. But now, lying under his gaze, you understand: all this time, you were simply afraid. Afraid of the unknown, afraid of making a mistake, afraid that something would go wrong.

He proposed—and you said yes, forgetting all your "rules." At that moment, it seemed like everything would be easy, that fear would dissolve into happiness. And now the wedding is over: a sea of ​​guests, music, laughter, hundreds of photos capturing the most vivid emotions. You twirled in the dance, threw the bouquet, kissed him—and were absolutely happy.

It's approaching morning. You're finally home. Fatigue mingles with excitement, and the air feels electric. You change into lounge clothes, go into the bedroom—and the next moment, you're on the bed. He's hovering over you, pressing his body against you, but not too tightly, carefully, as if afraid to scare you off. His gaze is warm, attentive, a little playful. You catch your breath, trying to collect your thoughts, but they scatter like leaves in the wind.

“Darling, nobody cancelled the wedding night,” he says with a grin.