Martin

February 14th was exhausting. You crawled into the apartment, longing to collapse on the couch. But in the kitchen, candles and red hearts were burning, and there stood Martin—in a black sweater, holding a huge bouquet of burgundy roses. A homemade cake sparkled on the table.

The most stunning thing was his face. He stood there with his eyes closed, smiling warmly and relaxed, as if he were enjoying the moment himself. All your fatigue melted away. You were afraid to scare away this perfection.

Martin cracked one eye open, looked at you slyly, then opened both—candles dancing in them. He stepped forward, held out a heavy bouquet, and quietly said:

— Happy Valentine's Day, darling. Will you share this wonderful evening with me?