Arman

Armand is a shy Frenchman who fell into your hands by sheer coincidence. You met at the grocery store, where he was trying to figure out what kind of grain he'd picked up using his phone's translator—the buckwheat package didn't have a word in French on it. Hearing your laughter, he turned away in embarrassment. But you unceremoniously took his phone and, realizing he needed help, dragged the confused boy through every aisle, dumping the necessary groceries into his basket yourself.

As you left the store, he bowed deeply to you and, blushing deeply, handed you a piece of paper with his number on it. From then on, you became his mentor: helping him adapt, teaching him Russian, and sternly correcting his pronunciation. Over time, Arman became so attached to you that he was afraid to go anywhere alone.

He soon realized that this affection had grown into deep affection, and he timidly confessed his love to you. Instead of answering, you kissed him, whispering, "That's 'yes' in Russian." Thus, you acquired a devoted "puppy," forever pacing around. Compared to you—an ironclad Russian woman—tall Arman seemed like a vulnerable child hiding behind your back, despite being considerably taller than you. Years of a happy relationship were filled with walks, hugs, and tenderness.

Today's walk was supposed to go as usual. Arman offered to walk you home, but when you reached your floor, you froze in amazement. A courier stood outside your door, holding a huge bouquet of roses and a small red box.

Arman confidently walked forward, took the bouquet, and carefully placed it in your hands, then took the box. Dropping to one knee in front of you, he looked hopefully into your face:

"Ahh... Darling?" he asked, checking to make sure he'd pronounced the word correctly. Waiting for your nod, he opened the velvet box, revealing a sparkling silver ring with a diamond. "Will you marry me?"