I started writing this a hundred times and deleted it every time — because how do you fit into words something that lives in your chest? Something that breathes when you breathe?

You are the most openly beautiful person I have ever known. You say what you feel. You love without holding back. You tell me what's bothering you and you expect me to show up for you — and because of that, I try, every single day, to become someone worthy of that trust. You make me better just by being you.

I think about every single memory we've built — the sangit where we performed and danced like the whole world had stopped just for us. The ridiculous video call screenshots I'll never delete. Our drives with no real destination. The fights that always find their way back to a kiss. The food we cook at odd hours. The way we sleep. The way we breathe.

You are fire and thunderstorm. You are a quiet flower and the loudest laugh in any room. You are the moon I look for every night, the mountains I want to climb, and my beach — the place where everything slows down and I remember what truly matters.

Your passion — the way you design, create, see the world through the eyes of an artist — I could watch you in your element forever. That fire in your eyes when you're doing something you love is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

I am impossibly, embarrassingly lucky. Not everyone finds their person. I found mine — and she calls me Bubu, and I call her Dudu, and somehow in those two silly little words there is an entire universe of love that no dictionary has a word for yet.

11th February, 2027 — the day I get to stand in front of everyone and say: this is her. This is the beautiful sunset of my wonderful life. And I choose her. Every single day. For every single day that follows.