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Jinu really likes looking at the stars and constellations so Rumi is taking him to the park and covering his eyes until she surprises him with a brand new telescope and a late night picnic date.
Rumi had been acting suspicious all evening, and Jinu noticed immediately. She was too calm while slipping her shoes on, too cheerful while telling Mira and Zoey they were “just going for a quick walk,” and far too insistent when she told him to grab a jacket even though the night air was mild. Jinu narrowed his eyes playfully as he followed her out of the apartment building and into the quiet street, the city lights dimming into softer golden pools the farther they walked toward the park. He tried to read her expression, but she avoided his gaze with exaggerated innocence, which only made him more curious.
“Why do I feel like I’m being lured somewhere?” he asked, amusement threading through his voice.
Rumi spun around to face him and immediately covered his eyes with both hands. “Because you are.”
He laughed softly, instinctively placing his hands over hers—not to remove them, but to steady himself. “Rumi.”
“Trust me?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Always.”
There was no teasing in his tone when he said it. Just certainty. The kind that had grown between them over time, built through late-night conversations, quiet reassurances, and the countless moments where they chose each other again and again. He allowed her to guide him forward, even when the sidewalk turned into grass and he nearly stumbled.
“Careful,” she scolded gently.
“You’re the one walking me into unknown territory,” he replied.
“You love unknown territory.”
“I love you,” he corrected lightly.
She smiled behind him, though he couldn’t see it. “Flattery won’t get you clues.”
“I don’t need clues. I need you not to let me trip over a rock.”
She laughed softly and adjusted her grip. The park was quieter at this hour, the trees casting long shadows beneath the faint glow of the moon. The city noise felt distant here, softened by the rustling leaves and the gentle hum of crickets. They reached the clearing she had carefully chosen earlier that afternoon, where she had hidden her surprise behind a cluster of bushes and a conveniently placed picnic blanket.
“Okay,” she said finally, her voice trembling just slightly with anticipation. “Don’t open your eyes yet.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
She stepped away from him for a moment, quickly dragging the covered object into place and adjusting the blanket one last time. A basket sat nearby, filled with carefully packed snacks and thermoses of hot chocolate. Candles in glass jars flickered gently, protected from the breeze.
“Okay,” she said again, stepping back in front of him. “You can look.”
Jinu opened his eyes.
For a second, he didn’t speak.
The telescope stood proudly in the center of the clearing, sleek and new, angled toward the sky. The blanket beneath it was layered with pillows, and the picnic was set with care. It wasn’t extravagant—but it was thoughtful in a way that stole his breath more effectively than anything grand ever could.
“You…” he started, then stopped, eyes softening. “Rumi.”
She shifted nervously. “You always talk about the stars like they’re old friends. So I thought maybe you deserved a better way to see them.”
He stared at the telescope again, then back at her, something vulnerable flickering across his face. “You got this for me?”
“Technically for us,” she corrected gently. “But yes.”
The next thing she knew, her feet weren’t touching the ground.
Jinu swept her into his arms and lifted her effortlessly, spinning her around in the cool night air. She squealed in surprise, grabbing onto his shoulders as laughter spilled from her.
“Jinu!” she protested breathlessly. “What are you doing?”
He stopped spinning just long enough to look at her, eyes shining brighter than the stars above them.
“In all my 400 years of existence,” he said softly, voice full of something deep and unshakable, “you are the best thing I’ve ever come across.”
Her laughter softened into something tender. “Four hundred years and you’re still dramatic.”
“Only when it’s accurate.”
She cupped his face gently, her thumbs brushing along his cheeks. “I love you so much.”
His expression softened completely. “I know.”
“Hey,” she frowned playfully.
He smiled. “And I love you more than I have words for.”
She didn’t respond with teasing this time. Instead, she leaned forward and kissed him.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t shy. It was full—full of gratitude, affection, years of shared history, and the quiet certainty that neither of them would ever choose differently. His hands tightened at her waist, grounding her as the kiss deepened, slow and warm and steady. The night seemed to fall away around them, leaving only the brush of his lips against hers and the soft hum of their breathing.
When they finally pulled back, she rested her forehead against his.
“You’re never allowed to replace me with a telescope,” she murmured.
He laughed quietly. “Impossible. The telescope doesn’t argue with me.”
“I do not argue.”
“You absolutely argue.”
“It’s called passionate discussion.”
He kissed her again, quick and playful this time. “I adore your passionate discussions.”
She swatted his shoulder lightly, but she was smiling too brightly to maintain any indignation.
Eventually, he set her down gently, though his hands lingered at her waist as if reluctant to let go.
“You really didn’t have to do this,” he said, glancing again at the telescope.
“I wanted to,” she replied simply.
He stepped closer and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Thank you.”
“Show me how it works,” she urged, nudging him toward it.
He raised an eyebrow. “You bought it without knowing how it works?”
“I watched three videos.”
“That’s not the same.”
“Excuse me,” she scoffed. “I am extremely capable.”
He chuckled, adjusting the telescope carefully. “Of course you are.”
She sat cross-legged on the blanket while he aligned it, explaining the constellations with the same quiet enthusiasm that had inspired her in the first place. When he finally stepped back and gestured for her to look, she hesitated.
“You go first,” she insisted.
He smiled and leaned down to peer through the lens. A quiet breath left him as he focused it.
“It’s perfect,” he murmured.
Her heart swelled at the softness in his voice.
He stepped aside and guided her gently into place, hands warm against her shoulders as he adjusted her stance. “There,” he whispered near her ear. “See that cluster? That’s Orion.”
She squinted. “It looks like a crooked stick figure.”
He laughed softly against her hair. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” she teased, turning her head slightly to kiss his jaw, “you’re still here.”
“Forever,” he replied without hesitation.
Her phone buzzed faintly in her jacket pocket. She ignored it.
A minute later, his did too.
He didn’t move.
They both knew who it was.
“Mira’s calling,” Rumi whispered.
“She’ll survive,” Jinu said calmly.
“She’s going to yell at us.”
“She always does.”
She giggled quietly and leaned back into him as they both settled onto the blanket, shoulders pressed together beneath the vast night sky. The telescope remained pointed upward, but for a while, neither of them used it. Instead, they lay side by side, fingers intertwined, sharing soft kisses and quiet laughter.
“You snuck us out again,” he teased.
“You like sneaking out.”
“I like you.”
She turned onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow. “Good answer.”
He brushed a strand of hair from her face and kissed her slowly once more, a kiss that lingered in the cool air and tasted like promises.
Above them, the stars stretched endlessly.
Below them, the world could wait.
And somewhere in the distance, Mira’s phone calls went unanswered as Rumi and Jinu chose, once again, to lose themselves in each other and the sky.