Chapter 30 - The First Yes
Chapter 30: The First Yes
They met at sixteen.
Not in a whirlwind. Not in a dramatic meet-cute.
Just… two quiet students who ended up in the same group for a Literature project. She had been reading The Book Thief; he was annotating Orwell quotes in the margins of his notebook. They didn’t speak much at first. They just worked.
And then one day, she brought him bubble tea — silently placed it on the table during group discussion, said, “You looked like you needed this,” and went back to her notes.
That was her way.
She noticed things.
And Ivan, who never needed attention, suddenly realized how much he appreciated being seen.
Their first real conversation happened after school one day, walking to the MRT.
She talked about how fiction made reality feel bearable. He talked about how systems helped him understand people when emotions didn’t make sense.
She didn’t laugh it off. She listened — really listened.
When she replied, she said, “I think you feel more than you let on.”
He didn’t answer.
But in his head, something clicked.
They didn’t rush.
Texts became calls. Calls became study breaks. One day, he walked her home. Another, she baked him matcha cookies he didn’t even know he liked.
On his 17th birthday, she gave him a handwritten letter with exactly seventeen reasons why she liked him.
The last line read:
Because I don’t have to ask you to understand me — you just do. And that’s rare.
He fell in love with her over time.
Not in one big moment.
But in small consistencies.
Her calm in chaos.
Her quiet joy.
The way she remembered his preferences better than he did.
And most of all, her willingness to be patient with his pace.
Back in the present, Ivan stood in front of her door holding the same brand of bubble tea she once gave him years ago.
She opened the door, surprised.
“You remembered,” she said.
“Of course I did.”
They sat on the floor of her living room, no music, no distractions — just them.
He pulled out a folded sheet of paper from his jacket.
“What’s that?”
He handed it over.
On it were ten lines, written in that exact same format as her old birthday letter.
Ten Reasons I Still Choose You:
- You notice what I hide.
- You challenge me gently.
- You know when to give space, and when to hold it.
- You never tried to fix me.
- You made silence safe.
- You were there when I didn’t know how to need anyone.
- You speak softly, but everything you say stays.
- You’re still the smartest person I know.
- You were my first yes.
- And I want you to be my last.
Her eyes shimmered. But she didn’t cry.
She leaned over, rested her head on his shoulder.
“I still choose you too.”
That night, Ivan wrote:
Sometimes love isn’t lost. Just buried under habit.
And all it takes to find it again… is remembering where you first said yes.