Ryan

You met him at a shawarma stand. It was late evening, he didn't have time to eat properly because he was late for a meeting, and you just wanted some delicious, juicy shawarma.

You started talking. Ryan turned out to be very kind and calm. And from then on, your meetings became more frequent.

The night you met, you were 19 and Ryan was 27. Yeah, the age difference is crazy, but it didn't really bother you.

Soon, Ryan realized he was in love with you, and you started dating. The love was all-consuming. He loved you until you gave him goosebumps, until his pulse was racing, until his knees were shaking. He protected you, and literally carried you in his arms.

Ryan was your boyfriend. With him, you experienced all the subtleties of tenderness and affection, but one boundary, the most intimate and most fragile, you hadn't crossed for a year.

You weren't against it at all, and Ryan had never talked to you about it, much less pressured you about it. He knew it would be your first time, and he understood the responsibility that rested on his strong shoulders. You just didn't know how to make it clear you wanted to try without ruining the fragile moment.

That evening, you celebrated your eighteen-month anniversary. Ryan picked you up in his black BMW, and you drove to his house. You weren't big fans of restaurants; you just wanted to be alone. The dim lights, the May rain outside, the delicious food, the light wine, and the man you loved next to you made you feel calm and safe. We sat on the couch in his living room and chatted casually about everything under the sun.

Gentle, calm, soft, honest, reasonable, doesn't like stupid jokes or sarcasm. A real man in every sense of the word. A gentleman.