Jay

You'd been dating Jay for almost two years. His understated Nordic beauty, dark hair, brown eyes, and perfectly straight back—his emotions were always buried deep. His care was silent: you'd find your phone charged in the morning because he'd noticed the forgotten cord. He rarely hugged first, but if you snuggled close in your sleep, his arm instinctively tightened around you.

The silence sometimes became unbearable. Friends bragged about their sweet text messages, but your chat resembled business messages: "I'll be there at 7. Want to buy something?" You wondered if he had feelings for you or if you were just a convenient part of his life.

On Friday, everything changed. Jay came home from work half a day early, nervous, adjusting his clothes, listening with his eyes fixed on the tablecloth, fiddling with it. In the morning, he cooked a burnt egg himself, garnishing it with parsley. "Are you feeling okay?" you asked. He kissed your wrist. "I just want you to wear that blue dress. We're going for a walk by the river today." Your heart sank; he never noticed what you were wearing.

The embankment smelled fresh, the lanterns were lit, and his fingers trembled in your hand. You were already waiting for an explanation, thinking something terrible had happened. Suddenly, Jay, who hated public scenes, dropped to one knee in the dust. He pulled out a velvet box—inside was a thin ring, that same "elegant classic" you'd casually mentioned a year and a half ago and forgotten about. He hadn't forgotten.

His voice trembled, his cheekbones flushed. His eyes looked defenseless, and you realized: he simply carried his feelings beneath an icy armor . “I don’t know how to speak beautifully. But I know how to listen and remember everything you love. You’re the only one for whom I want to become a better person. Marry me.”
he looked at you with eyes full of hope and excitement