We agreed on this: each of us would plan one event — something personal, meaningful, real — not just flashy dates or grand gestures, but something that would make Rhea feel. That would tell her: this is who I am, and this is what you mean to me.
I went first.
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I picked the rooftop. Not a restaurant. Not a luxury suite. Just a quiet rooftop above an old bookstore, the kind I once worked in.
It was night, and I'd set up a blanket, warm lights, a small portable speaker humming soft acoustics, and a kettle of hot chai — her favorite.
Rhea showed up wearing a denim jacket over a black dress, her hair loose, her eyes curious.
"This place," she said, looking around. "It feels like you."
"I wanted you to see where I started. Not the money. Not the success. Just me. Before all of it."
She sat beside me, and we poured chai into mugs. I handed her mine first, just the way she likes it — light sugar, extra ginger.
"You remembered," she whispered.
"I remember everything about you," I said.
There was silence — the kind that doesn't beg to be filled.
I pulled out a small notebook and handed it to her.
She opened it. Inside were pages I had written over the years — poems, confessions, scraps of unfinished thoughts, all of them about love, fear, and eventually... about her.
"Some of these are years old," I said quietly. "But the later pages... they started after you came into my life. And they've never stopped."
She flipped through them slowly, her fingertips trembling just a little. Then she looked at me.
"Why show me this now?"
"Because I want you to know that you didn't just change my future — you changed my past too. Every version of me was leading to you, even when I didn't know it."
She blinked fast. "You're going to make this hard."
I leaned in slightly. "I'm not here to play fair. I'm here to love you. Madly, honestly."
She held the notebook to her chest. "I didn't know you still had this part of you."
"Most people don't," I said. "But you always did."
We watched the stars for a while. No kissing. No touching beyond a shared glance. Just breath. Just hearts syncing.
That night, I walked her back downstairs. As she turned to go, she looked back.
"You've made the first move," she said, her voice warm. "Eva's going to hate how strong it was."
I smiled. "Let her try."
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