No grand theatrical production under the stars.
Just the box in my hand and the truth of the moment standing there between us.
For the first time all night, Stella goes completely still.
Her fingers tighten on my shirt.
The wind moves one dark strand of hair across her mouth and she doesn’t even seem to feel it.
I open the box.
Inside, the ring catches the terrace light in one clean, bright flare.
Elegant.
Not oversized.
A diamond that looks strong instead of fragile.
A band built to survive real life, because that mattered to me more than anything else.
And on either side, subtle enough that only she’ll really know it’s there unless somebody looks too closely, the faintest engraving of a compass motif worked into the metal.
North.
Always.
Stella’s hand rises slowly to cover her mouth.
I don’t kneel because it isn’t us.
Not really.
Too public, even here.
Too much performance in it.
So instead I take one step closer, put the open box in one hand, and take her free hand in the other.
“I’m not asking because you won gold tonight,” I say quietly.
Her eyes flood immediately.
I keep going before emotion can make me stupid.
“I’m not asking because Greece is beautiful, or because our families are ten feet away, or because this would make a good story when people ask later.” My thumb strokes once over herknuckles. “I’m asking because I’m done pretending there’s any version of my life that makes sense without you in it. And the time is right. We’ve graduated. Won hard games. Lost others. Supported each other’s dreams and now?—”
The tears spill over.
She laughs once, shaky and wrecking, and I swear the sound goes straight through bone.
“Tristan—”
“No. Let me finish.”
She nods instantly.
I lift her hand a little higher between us.
