Padmé

“So,” he said, leaning back with a grin, “how many exes are we talking about?”

She snorted. “Why do you sound like you’re conducting an interview?”

He laughed. “I just want to know what kind of competition I’m up against.”

“Competition?” she teased. “There’s no competition. They’re all gone.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” he said, half-smiling. “So tell me about them.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. There was one who cheated. One who ghosted me. And one who was just… unsure. About me, about us, about everything.”

He leaned his head to the side, his tone softening. “You know, you’re making me more jealous now.”

She blinked. “Jealous? Why?”

He smiled — that crooked, half-serious kind of smile that always caught her off guard. “Just the thought that they got to stare into your eyes before I did.”

Her stomach fluttered, heat rising to her cheeks before she could stop it. She laughed lightly to cover it. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he said, shrugging. “But they fumbled you. Every single one of them.”

She wanted to say something back — something witty — but the words caught somewhere between her heart and her throat. The way he was looking at her… it was different. Not teasing, not flirtatious — just honest.

And in that moment, it hit her.

The way he smiled when he caught her staring, the way he listened like every word she said mattered, the way his voice softened when he said her name — it all felt familiar. Like the characters she’d spent years reading about, the ones who ruined her standards for real men.

He wasn’t trying to be charming. He just was.

She laughed quietly, shaking her head. “You know what’s funny?”

“What?” he asked, still watching her.

“You’re basically every book boyfriend I’ve ever read about.”

He smiled at that — slow, warm, deliberate. “Good,” he said softly. “Because I only need you. I’ll worship you, take care of you, and spend my life making sure you never forget how much you matter.”

For a second, she thought he was teasing again — playing along like he always did. But then she saw it in his eyes. The seriousness. The quiet conviction.

He wasn’t joking. He meant every word.

He was sitting just a few feet away, phone pressed to his ear, his voice low and warm in that way it only ever was when he was talking to her — his girlfriend.

She tried to focus on her own phone, on anything else, but the words floated across the room anyway.

“I… love you,” he said.

But there was a pause before it — the kind of pause that said too much.

He’d looked up just then, catching her watching him.

And for a second, it was as if the air shifted — a flicker of hesitation in his eyes before he forced the words out, softer this time, almost uncertain.

That was the moment her chest tightened.

It wasn’t just jealousy — it was confusion, a mix of ache and longing she couldn’t quite name.

Later, when they sat on the couch, Friends playing in the background, she tried to act like nothing had changed. Her laugh came half a second too late. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

He noticed. Of course he did. He always noticed.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said, glancing at her between scenes.

“Just tired,” she lied, eyes glued to the TV.

But he didn’t believe her. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze steady. “You know you’re terrible at pretending, right?”

Her heart skipped. “Pretending what?”

He hesitated — then sighed, as if giving in. “I know things between us aren’t… ideal. You have someone. And I do too.”

She swallowed hard. The words were heavy, but his tone was gentle — careful, as if he was afraid of breaking something fragile.

“But,” he went on quietly, “when I’m with you, it feels like none of that matters. Like the world outside this room just… stops existing.”

Her breath caught when he reached out, fingers brushing against hers — tentative, but certain enough to make her pulse race.

“I’m not asking you to decide right now,” he said. “Take your time. As much as you need. But if even a part of you feels what I feel… I’d give up everything. Just to be with you. Just to make you happy.”

Then he looked at her — really looked at her — and said, almost in a whisper,

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

She blinked, caught between disbelief and something dangerously close to hope. “Why so sudden?” she asked, her voice barely steady.

He gave a soft, almost embarrassed laugh. “Because I’ve been thinking about it for the past twenty minutes,” he admitted. “And I realized… I haven’t been watching the show at all. I’ve just been overthinking. About us. About you.”

And she realized then — neither of them had really been watching Friends.