For so many years, I walked on eggshells.
Out in public, I never quite knew what version of him I’d be with. The sulker. The grumbler. The show-off. The critic. The man who made dinner with friends feel like an endurance test. The one who rolled his eyes at small talk and made everything uncomfortable.

I remember sitting across from him at tables in beautiful places, wishing I was anywhere else.
He’d complain about the cost. He’d make someone else feel small.
I’d shrink inside myself, smile politely, and try to smooth it over. Again.
I wasn’t proud of who I was with — I was surviving them.

Now?

Now, I sit across from someone who makes my heart sing.
Someone whose smile melts me.
Someone with stories that light up the room — not because he needs attention, but because he’s lived, really lived.
He’s curious. Kind. Charismatic without trying.
He makes people feel welcome. He notices others. He listens.

I don’t have to explain him.
I don’t have to apologise for him.
I don’t have to brace myself every time we walk into a room together.

Instead, I walk beside someone I’m proud of.
He always looks good — not out of vanity, but out of self-respect.
And when he looks at me, I feel… seen. Not managed. Not tolerated.
Wanted. Celebrated. Loved.

This is what it’s meant to feel like.
Not fireworks and chaos. Not games and confusion.
But safety. Pride. Joy.
A heart that finally gets to relax — and sing.