The morning was slow.
Not lazy—just unhurried.
London filtered sunlight through gauzy curtains. The smell of coffee lingered in the air. Somewhere down the street, someone was playing a piano with just enough skill to make it beautiful, not perfect.
Aria sat at the window nook, knees to her chest, Leon's gray sweater wrapped around her like armor.
He stood at the stove, humming something tuneless, barefoot, shirtless, focused on not burning the eggs.
She watched him.
Noticed how the early light softened the angles of his face. How he furrowed his brow at the skillet like it had personally insulted him.
This is what forever sounds like, she thought.
Not a vow.
Not a ring.
Just a man, quiet in love, making breakfast without asking for applause.
"You're staring," he said without looking up.
"I'm studying."
Leon glanced back, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "What's the verdict?"
"You're passable."
He plated the eggs with exaggerated care.
"And yet you've stayed."
"Only for the food."
He walked over, setting a plate in front of her, then kissed the top of her head.
"Liar," he murmured.
They ate together in companionable silence.
No rush.
No schedule.
No walls between words.
When the dishes were cleared, they found themselves in the living room. Aria curled into his lap, feet tucked beside him, his arms wrapped loosely around her.
It wasn't the kind of morning where anything big was supposed to happen.
Which is probably why it did.
"Can I ask you something?" she said quietly.
Leon didn't hesitate. "Anything."
"If I told you I didn't need a wedding to know this was forever—what would you say?"
He looked at her.
Really looked.
The room hushed around them.
"I'd say I've been waiting for you to say that," he replied.
Aria blinked. "Really?"
"I've been carrying a ring for two months."
Her breath caught.
Leon reached toward the drawer in the coffee table, opened it, and pulled out a small, elegant box.
He didn't kneel.
He didn't recite a speech.
He just opened the box and showed her.
"Only if you want it."
She stared at the ring.
It was simple.
No blinding diamonds. No ornate flourish.
Just a delicate gold band with a subtle curve—like the quiet promise of a sunrise.
And without a second thought, she said:
"Yes."
Leon exhaled.
Like he'd been holding the world on his back and just let it fall away.
He slid the ring onto her finger.
Not a performance.
Just a gesture.
Final. Certain. Theirs.
And then she kissed him.
Slow.
Unrushed.
Like the answer had always lived in her mouth, just waiting for the right moment to be spoken.
Later, she asked, "Why didn't you ask earlier?"
Leon brushed his thumb over her hand.
"I didn't want to offer you forever until I believed I could hold it."
"And now?"
"I'm still scared," he said. "But I trust us more than I fear myself."
She smiled.
"I'll take that."
They didn't post about it.
Didn't call anyone.
They just sat on the floor of their messy London apartment, tangled in each other, the world outside moving on—
—and for the first time, neither of them needed anything else to begin.
Because it already had.