With the new year underway and life finding its rhythm, we began to realize just how much had changed. Not just in our relationship—but in us, as people. What started off as teenage love had grown into something deeply rooted in commitment, understanding, and effort.
Zeon's routine grew even tighter as he juggled work and responsibilities for his family. He continued sending money home, never missing a month. Every time he received his salary, he'd smile at me and say, "First things first—my mom and you."
It humbled me. It reminded me that love wasn't just words or grand gestures. It was the consistent, quiet devotion that showed up—every single time.
I was back in college now, pushing hard to make the most of the second chance. Zeon would walk me to the taxi rank in the mornings when he could, or he'd leave encouraging notes in my bag. "You've got this." "Don't forget to eat." "I believe in you."
We were dreaming differently now. Not just about getting through the week or paying bills—but about what our future could look like. We'd lie on our old mattress at night, lights off, hands intertwined, and talk about the life we were building.
"What do you think our kids will look like?" I asked him one night, laughing.
He pulled me closer. "They'll have your eyes. And your attitude."
We both laughed.
"But seriously," he said, more quietly. "I want them to see what love looks like. I want them to know what showing up means. Because that's what we're doing now."
We talked about buying land someday. Starting a business together. Going on a real vacation, even if it was years from now. These weren't fantasy plans anymore. They were blueprints.
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One day, while walking in town, Zeon pulled me into a small jewelry store.
"What are we doing here?" I asked, eyes wide.
He didn't say anything. Just smiled.
He pointed at a simple gold ring in the case. "Not now. But soon," he whispered.
My heart caught in my throat.
He wasn't proposing yet, but that moment—standing there with him, knowing what was coming—meant the world to me.
He was serious. About me. About us. About forever.
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We still had our challenges. Financial strain didn't disappear. Stress from school and work tested us. But the difference now was that we didn't let those things divide us. We let them grow us.
He'd say, "It's not me against you. It's us against whatever comes."
And that truth became the foundation of everything.
We built routines—weekly budget meetings, grocery trips, Sunday cleaning, even silly dance breaks while doing laundry. We weren't just surviving life anymore. We were living it—together.
Every day, I thanked God for that one broken day I met him. For all the pain that led me to him. For choosing to stay, even when leaving might have been easier.
Because this love? It was worth every tear, every test, every sacrifice.
The future we were growing into wasn't picture-perfect.
But it was ours.