the moment i knew
his pov
We had started sleepovers five months into the relationship.
I remember the first time clearly. The nervousness of it. The way we both pretended it was casual, even though it was not.
But that was not the moment I knew.
I know that moment by heart. I replay it every time I say the words because that was when I realized they were true.
That week had been long for both of us. The kind of week that drains you slowly and makes Friday morning feel like the light at the end of the tunnel.
That Friday morning was the best one I had had in weeks.
I was packing my weekend bag.
I threw things in with the confidence of a man who already knew where he would end up. Two shirts. Sweatpants. A hoodie she would steal the moment she got cold. My toothbrush.
I never packed for Monday.
Every weekend, we promised to be responsible.
Every weekend, I said I would leave Sunday evening so I could prepare for the week.
And every weekend, Sunday night came, and we looked at each other like two idiots who could not imagine sleeping anywhere else.
So we would drive to my place together, half asleep, just so I could grab clothes for work the next day.
Then we would drive right back to her apartment because sleeping apart for one night was not an option.
When I walked out with my bag over my shoulder and my work bag in my hand, my brother looked up from the couch.
He studied me for a moment, then smiled.
“At least this time you packed clothes,” he said. “Because if you woke me up at eleven on Sunday night to open the door again, I would not answer.”
I just grinned and left.
I walked on clouds the entire day.
I was seeing my girlfriend. I would have her in my world for two whole days.
Do you know what that does to a man?
On the way to her place, I stopped at a small store.
I grabbed drinks, snacks, and a couple of those face masks she liked doing on Saturdays while pretending we were having a spa day.
The cashier did not ask who they were for.
I told him anyway.
“These are for my girlfriend and me.”
He nodded politely, the way people do when someone is clearly too happy.
It did not hit me then.
The drive to her apartment always felt longer on Fridays. Forty minutes stretched with anticipation.
Music played, but I barely heard it. My mind wandered.
Her laugh.
Her cats.
The way she always opened the door before I knocked because she tracked my location and knew exactly when I arrived.
When I stepped into the elevator I realized I was rocking on my feet.
Actually rocking.
Like a kid.
I caught my reflection in the elevator doors and shook my head.
You are a grown man.
Still, I could not stop smiling.
It did not hit me then either.
When the elevator doors opened, she was already there.
Leaning against the wall outside her apartment.
Waiting.
Her smile appeared the second she saw me.
I dropped my bag before I even reached her.
She laughed softly when I pulled her into my arms. The kind of laugh that vibrates against your chest.
Her cats came running immediately, weaving around our legs and purring loudly like they had been waiting all week.
“Hi babies,” I said to them.
But I did not let go of her.
We stood there in the doorway of her apartment, holding each other while the cats rubbed against our feet.
It did not hit me then either.
Later, we showered and changed into comfortable clothes.
We sat on the couch with takeout containers balanced on our knees. The television was on but muted. It always ended up that way because we would rather talk.
We ate and stole food from each other’s plates.
Her cats took their usual positions. One against my leg. The other draped across her lap like royalty.
Something about the normalcy of it settled into me.
The comfort.
The way my body relaxed the moment I stepped into her apartment, like it had been waiting all week to be there.
Hours passed quietly.
By the time we noticed the clock, it was nearly two in the morning.
We sat across from each other at the kitchen island with a tub of ice cream between us.
Two spoons.
“You are taking bigger bites,” she said.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
Then the conversation drifted the way it always did.
Books.
We were reading the same one, and suddenly we were leaning across the counter arguing about the characters like they were real people.
“She is lying,” she said.
“She is not lying. She just has not figured it out yet.”
“She knows exactly what she is doing.”
“No she does not.”
“Yes she does.”
She pointed her spoon at me like it settled the argument.
And I remember really looking at her.
Her hair was slightly messy.
Her eyes were bright with excitement.
There was a small smudge of ice cream near the corner of her mouth.
She was sitting across from me at two in the morning, passionately defending a fictional character.
She was there.
Right in front of me.
And something in my chest settled into place.
She was there.
And I loved her.
“I love you.”
The words left my mouth before I realized I had spoken them.
She stopped mid-sentence and looked at me.
Then she smiled.
Not surprised. Just warm.
“How did you know I was about to say it?” she asked.
“I did not.”
She held my gaze for a moment.
Then she said it.
“I love you.”
No “too.”
I think about that sometimes.
She never said “too.”
Later, we stepped onto her balcony.
The night air was cool and quiet in that late hour when the city finally softens.
We brought a blanket and her big chair. The one meant for one person that somehow always fit both of us.
She sat first and I settled behind her, pulling her back against my chest.
My arms wrapped around her waist. The blanket covered our legs.
Her head rested against my shoulder.
We lit a blunt and passed it between us slowly.
The city hummed far below. Cars in the distance. Wind through the trees.
Neither of us spoke much.
We did not need to.
Her breathing was slow and steady against my chest while we shared the smoke and the quiet.
And I sat there holding her, thinking the same words again and again.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I did not say them out loud.
I just let them live quietly in my mind while we breathed in the cool night air together.
Because sitting there with her in my arms, listening to the city breathe beneath us, I understood something with perfect certainty.
This was the moment.
The moment I knew.
Hi guysssss,
How are we? I apologize for my inconsistency, but unfortunately, I can’t promise that will change anytime soon. Work has been a lot lately. I can’t complain though. I love it; it’s just taking up a lot of my time right now.
This is the first story I’m writing this year. What did we think? Do we like it?
I’m working on her POV, and you’ll get that soon, I promiseeee.
I hope we all have an amazing weekend. See you next time!
PS. I’ve been obsessed with the new Bruno Mars album (The Romantic). This is the song I wrote this story to.
The Favourite songs from the album:
I like this very much!🥹
Love thissss