We were walking back to Jack’s parents’ place after dinner when he slipped his hand into mine. There was something about being here—on the streets where he learned to ride a bike, where he skinned his knees—that made him hold me a little closer. I could feel it in the way he didn’t let go.
“So,” he said casually, “Maya and Chris want to know when we’re getting married.”
I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess—over dessert?”
“Before dessert. Your tiramisu hadn’t even hit the table.”
I laughed, but I felt the question linger. Not from Jack—but from everyone else. The longer we were together, the more people seemed to assume there was something missing. That love needed a label. A deadline. A ceremony.
“We’ve talked about this,” I said. “They just don’t get it.”
“I know,” he said. “But I wanted to make sure you still feel the same.”
That stopped me. Not because I doubted him—but because I loved that he asked.
“I do,” I said. “I don’t want a wedding. I don’t want a ring. I want us.”
Jack nodded. “Same here. I don’t want to prove it on paper. I’d rather show up every day and choose you.”
We slowed our pace. A couple passed us on the sidewalk—engaged maybe, still in that shiny beginning phase. Good for them.
“I think it’s more romantic this way,” I said. “No contract. Just… us. Staying because we want to.”
“And no kids,” Jack added, his tone gentle but clear.
“No kids,” I agreed. “We have our work. Our art. That’s what we’re building. That’s what we’re raising.”
He gave my hand a little squeeze. “It’s enough, right?”
I looked at him, at the soft lines in his face from years of late-night edits and laughing too hard. My whole life was in that face.
“It’s everything.”
Jack’s childhood bedroom, warm with soft lamplight. We’re lying on the old creaky bed, the city humming faintly outside the window. My head rests on Jack’s shoulder, and his hand slowly runs through my hair. There’s a pause in the conversation, and then—
Jack: You know what’s funny? I brought a lot of girls back here. Not to this house—I mean, to my life. They came and went. Some stayed longer than others. But none of them ever… stayed. Not really.
Sarah: Because you didn’t let them?
Jack: Yeah. That’s the truth. I used to think I was just a “free spirit”—noncommittal, too busy, too creative to settle down. But I was just afraid. Afraid of being seen. Like if someone really saw me… they’d run. Or worse—stay, and then leave later.
Sarah: And me?
Jack: You didn’t try to get inside my world. You just… were already there. You weren’t chasing me. You weren’t trying to be “what I wanted.” You were just you. And I realized—that’s what I’ve been waiting for.
Sarah: Jack…
Jack: You’re not like the others. You didn’t break through a wall—I let the wall fall. Because I finally found something worth risking it for.
