But Lilian? She didn't care about pride. She cared
about clarity.
So, when a girl like that—someone who could have
anyone she wanted—sat in front of me and calmly said she wanted to be with me,
I was stunned.
My brain stalled. I couldn't wrap my head around it.
I kept thinking: She's really doing this. And it wasn't just that she asked—it was how she said it.
She went on to explain herself in a way that was so
blunt and logical, it threw me off more than the confession itself.
She didn't stutter or blush or try to make it sound
poetic. She laid it out like a business proposal—clear, concise, and
unapologetically honest.
"I've never been in a relationship before," she
said. "I've never even fallen in love. But I have a good feeling about you. I
think I could fall in love with you eventually. More than that, you're the most
suitable guy for marriage I've ever met."
She paused, as if waiting to see if I would react. I
was too stunned to say anything. So she kept going.
"Yes, your financial background definitely played a
part in my decision. I won't lie to you. But don't misunderstand—I could get a
rich guy if that's all I wanted. That's not the point. What I want is a
responsible man. A calm man. Someone who understands me. Someone I won't have
to explain myself to every day. That's why I chose you out of everyone else
I've met."
It was the most rational confession I'd ever heard
in my life—and probably ever will. She didn't giggle. She didn't flirt. She
wasn't nervous. She just laid everything out with the kind of honesty most
people wouldn't dare to say out loud.
She continued, this time with more self-awareness
than I expected from someone our age.
"I want to be a novelist. That's the life I want.
But I also know that becoming successful through writing is a slow, uncertain
journey. I know trying to get rich through writing novels is like buying a
lottery ticket. It's a long shot, and I don't want to struggle while chasing
that dream. My parents are supportive, but I don't want to rely on them
forever. And honestly," she added with a half-smile.
Then she looked at me and, with a completely
straight face, said: "I'm lazy."
Not in a self-deprecating way. Not as a joke. Just
as a plain, honest truth.
"I like comfort. I want a soft lifestyle—vacations, good food, a nice
house. A middle-class guy can't give me that, not if I plan to stay home and
write all day. That's why I need someone who can give me the kind of life I
want while I focus on doing what I love."
She was brutally honest. Some might even say
shameless. But I found it refreshing.
Then she leaned back and added, "I'm also too lazy
to waste time dating random guys, trying to figure out who has potential and
who's just pretending. I'd rather go for someone who already has what I'm
looking for, and see if it can work out."
That was the moment it truly hit me: Lilian was
different.
Most girls—especially the beautiful ones—play it
safe. They flirt subtly, drop hints, and wait for the guy to make the first
move. They protect their pride, especially in front of someone like me. But
Lilian didn't care about pride. She wasn't playing a game. She was thinking
ahead, planning her future, and being brutally honest about her motives.
And weirdly, I respected her more for it.
I looked at her, both speechless and fascinated.
Lilian was eighteen. Just an eighteen-year-old girl
from a middle-class family. But the way she spoke? She sounded like someone who
had already lived a full adult life, seen the world for what it was, and made
peace with her desires. She wasn't trying to charm me.
She wasn't pretending. She wasn't trying to impress
me with emotional stories or romantic fantasies. She didn't sugarcoat a thing.
She didn't make it sound romantic. She didn't pretend it was about destiny or
butterflies.
She laid her cards on the table and waited for me to
decide. And even though she said things that would probably offend or scare
most guys, I understood her completely.
At that moment, I saw Lilian clearly—not just as the
beautiful girl everyone admired, but as someone practical, clever, and quietly
ambitious. She wasn't chasing a rich man to sit around and do nothing. She
wanted space. She wanted security. She wanted to write stories and not have to
worry about rent or bills. She was designing the life she wanted, and she
wasn't afraid to say it out loud.
A lot of people might call that manipulative, cold,
or materialistic. But I didn't see it that way.
What I saw was someone who knew exactly who she was.
Someone who knew what kind of life she wanted—and had the courage to ask for
it, even if it meant exposing herself to judgment.
She wasn't chasing money. She was chasing peace. She didn't want extravagance—she wanted
stability. She didn't want to be saved—she wanted space to create, to write, to
live. And she wanted a partner who wouldn't try to turn her into someone else.
To me, it was a deal—and a fair one. She wanted
comfort, and I wanted someone who wouldn't fake who they were. She chose me not
just because I had money, but because she saw stability in me. And I chose her
because she was unlike anyone I had ever met.
So I said yes.
Not because I was flattered. Not because I wanted to
show off. Not because I was intoxicated by her beauty. Not out of pride. Not
out of ego. Not out of flattery. Not out of impulse.
But because, deep down, I knew what she said made
sense. I saw the future she was talking about. I could imagine us together—her
writing in the sunroom, sipping coffee while I worked from my home office.
Weekend trips. Good food. Quiet evenings. It wasn't flashy, but it was solid.
Real.
She was smart. Self-aware. Clear about her
limitations and her dreams. And more than anything, she was brave enough to say
what she truly wanted out of life and love.
It felt like a deal, yes—but not a cold or
transactional one. It was a partnership in the making. A foundation built not
on fantasy, but on clarity.
That day marked the start of our relationship. It
wasn't explosive. It didn't feel like a fairytale. It felt like signing a
long-term agreement with someone who understood the terms as clearly as I did.
And I liked that. It was strange, maybe even awkward at first—but it was
honest.
And sometimes, honesty is more powerful than love at
first sight.
I said yes because I appreciated her honesty. Because I saw her
clearly. Because what she was offering wasn't a fantasy—it was a vision. A
plan. A future.
Maybe not one built on sparks and magic. But one
built on trust. Understanding. Mutual benefit.
And maybe—just maybe—something more.
I knew we were different. I knew our goals didn't
perfectly align. But I also knew that real relationships don't start with
perfect compatibility—they start with honesty. And that's exactly what she gave
me.
That day changed everything. Not just between us,
but in how I saw relationships. Because sometimes, the boldest kind of love
doesn't come with grand gestures or dramatic speeches.
Sometimes, it starts with a calm girl under a tree
saying, "I thought about this. And I choose you."
And I chose her too.