Unpretentious

The storm outside was nothing compared to the one brewing inside me. We were supposed to have this perfect night. Popcorn scattering everywhere, sneaking in giggles under the cover of trailers, just the two of us. That's what I craved. But then the power died, plunging us into darkness, and all that resentment just burst. My words were sharper than a shard of glass. But seeing you slumped over there made me realize how wrong I was. This isn't the disaster I expected. 
 
 
The flickering candlelight wasn't what I wanted. Yet it exposed everything—the truth etched on your face. The dark circles under your eyes hinting at sleepless nights. My stomach clenched with a sudden pang of guilt. You haven't been feeling well, but you were battling a cold, dragging yourself through the day just to see me. Surprised me with wildflowers, their colors defiant against the gloom. I didn't even notice them. Too busy pouting over a ruined night, I was blind to the effort you poured into making it special in your own quiet way.
 
 
The warm glow of the candle cast shimmering constellations across the azure depths of your eyes. And the way you smiled, it started to melt the ice around my heart. The rasp in your voice became a lullaby for the tempest raging inside me. The worn paperback you snagged from the library said it all. You found something you thought we might enjoy—a way to ignite a spark even in the darkness. You weren't aiming for perfection; instead, you were crafting a timeless moment. Undeniably sweet. And a warmth deeper than any candle flame bloomed in my chest. It was the warmth of finally seeing you. Truly seeing you.
 
 
 
Maybe it wasn't the night I envisioned. But as you sat there by my side, I realized something so profound. This wasn't ruined. It was different, yes, but different in a way that made it perfect. Because in that moment, I truly saw you. The effort you put in, even when you weren't feeling your best, and the way you tried to make this night special just for us.
 
 
 
And as we read, curled up together, the outside world faded away. It wasn't about the fancy plans or the popcorn anymore. It was about the warmth radiating from you, the way your hand brushed against mine, and the crinkle in your eyes when you smiled. The candlelight painted your face in a new, precious way. 
 
 
 
The harsh electric glare shattered the spell when the power returned, but something else flickered to life within me. Leaning into you, my lips grazed your ear as I traced the curve of the crescent moon pendant nestled around your neck. A silent vow whispered against your skin to treasure every attempt, every thoughtful touch, no matter how flawed. Because in your eyes, every shared breath feels complete. Maybe a perfect date isn't about following a script; it's about the way you make me feel seen, appreciated, and loved. And that is always the most perfect date of all.

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