You showed up to my house,
and somehow it already felt like something was beginning,
not loud or dramatic,
just quietly important.

The car ride was calm.
No awkward silences, no trying too hard.
Just you, glancing at me with that soft half-smile,
and me, wondering if maybe
this is what ease is supposed to feel like.

We drove to Deep Cut Garden.
Everything smelled like early fall but still green and warm.
The kind of place where the breeze slows down
and even nature seems to exhale.

I don’t remember what we talked about.
But I remember how I felt:
present. safe.
Like my thoughts weren’t racing for once.
Like you were a quiet spell
cast over my nervous system
that made everything still.

You held my hand for the first time.
And it wasn’t fireworks,
it was something softer,
like exhaling after holding your breath too long.
Like my fingers had been waiting for yours.

And then, our first kiss.
No tension. No pressure.
Just this unspoken understanding,
a gravity between us
that said:
yes, this is where it begins.

You took pictures of me.
And I wasn’t self-conscious like I usually am.
I didn’t think about angles or flaws.
I just stood there,
because for the first time,
someone was looking at me like
I was worth remembering.
And in your lens,
I saw a version of myself I wanted to believe in.

We got boba after that,
and even that was magic.
Your hand in mine.
That gentle pull when we walked.
The way the sun made the whole afternoon
feel like a memory
as it was happening.

I don’t think I told you that day,
but I felt something I hadn’t felt in years:
clarity.
Peace.
Like I didn’t have to be anything other than myself,
and somehow,
that was already enough.

That day didn’t just give me a memory,
it gave me proof.
That love doesn’t have to roar
to change your life.

Sometimes,
it just pulls up to your driveway,
smiles,
and waits for you to get in.

—Xinlin