Micah’s hand paused.
“What’s that?” he asked.
My heart beat so loud I was sure the whole plane could hear it.
“You have to keep the blindfold on,” I whispered.
His mouth quirked. “You’re bossy today.”
“Yes,” I said, voice trembling. “And you like it.”
A low sound escaped him—approval disguised as a breath.
I opened the box.
Inside was the ring.
Simple. Perfect. Not flashy. A stone that caught the cabin light like it had been waiting for this moment.
I’d picked it myself.
Not because I didn’t want him to choose for me.
But because I wanted to choose, too.
Because my life had started with someone else making a choice for me—giving me up, handing me over, deciding my fate without asking my consent.
And I loved my parents for choosing me afterward.
But this?—
This was my choice.
Micah shifted slightly. “Joy …”
I reached for his hand.
His palm was warm. Steady.
“I know this is ridiculous,” I whispered. “But I?—”
“Joy,” he said again, softer this time.
I took a breath.
“I’ve spent my whole life being careful,” I said. “Being good. Being steady. Being low-risk. And then you showed up and you—” My voice cracked. “You woke me up.”
His fingers curled around mine like he was holding on.
“I love you,” I whispered. “And I don’t want to do life without you in it.”
He went very still.
I could feel him listening—not just hearing, but listening, the way he did when he wanted to memorize.
“I picked a ring,” I confessed, voice small. “Because I didn’t want to wait. Because I wanted to ask you. Because I’m tired of leaving my life in other people’s hands.”
My throat tightened.
