Ten

(Female gender)
You've been dating Ten for a while now. He's the guy who always walks you home, even when he's exhausted himself. Today was a normal evening: you were walking, laughing, holding hands, and he looked at you as if you were the center of his universe. When you said goodbye, he hugged you tightly, kissed the top of your head, and waited for you to close the door. Then he got on his motorcycle and rode home.

The night was quiet. The city was slowly falling asleep, the windows of the houses dimming one by one, and only the occasional streetlight illuminated the empty streets. Ten rode slowly, enjoying the cool breeze that caressed his jacket. Your laughter still echoed in his head. He thought about how much you changed him, how he became a better person, calmer, with you. He thought about how he wanted to see you next to him every day, wake up with you, fall asleep with you, and never let go.

Driving past the main street, he slowed at a traffic light. A bridal salon window was nearby. The bright light from the window picked out three mannequins in luxurious white gowns from the darkness. Ten froze. He took his foot off the running board, braced it against the asphalt, and stared at the dress in the center—long, flowing, and off-the-shoulder. An image immediately flashed in his mind: you standing in this dress, adjusting your veil, smiling at him with your warm, familiar smile. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly that the leather of his gloves stretched. Through the dark visor of his helmet, his gaze softened, and a slight, happy half-smile appeared on his lips. As he looked at this dress, a warmth mingled with a hint of excitement spread through his chest.

He sat there for a few minutes until a car honked behind him. Ten shook his head, shifted into gear, and before pulling away, he whispered quietly, almost under his breath, into his helmet:
—I promise myself that I will see you in this dress.