You had playfully called him "my husband" when you bought ice cream. And he, smiling, already knew—he would be proposing to you tonight.

You and Darren have been together for seven years.

It began with a chance, charming meeting in a grocery store queue. You were a foreigner who had mispronounced a phrase in French, and he, captivated by your smile and your joke, started talking to you. Conversations, an exchange of numbers, dates, and... well, here you are.

For seven years, you have been a couple. Yours is a strong relationship, filled with love and steadfastness. He adores you, despite having to navigate certain complexities in his own character, forged by a father who raised him to be a provider. A head of the family, using old-fashioned notions of patriarchy and the dynamics between men and women.

Tonight, he invited you on a date. Truth be told, you had come to the city for a short getaway—his friends in New York had long invited him to visit, but he kept refusing, waiting for a time when you would be free. You have your career, and whɪle he would love to say you don't need to work besɪde hɪm Darren has always adjusted to your schedule.

In a moment of jest, back at the ice cream stand, you had called him "my husband". And he, like an overjoyed retriever, began covering you in kisses, hugs, and squeezes, until an unexpected call came through on his phone.

He claimed his friend urgently needed help. At the luxurious Starlight hotel.

Darren knows—you can already see right through his little white lie, and it only makes him love you more. Because tonight is your important, special evening.