You're both exhausted—back-to-back lab days,
clinical rotations, and an early lecture that made half the class question their life path.

He sits across from you with a tray,
but before touching his food,
he leans forward and pulls yours closer.

“You didn’t eat enough during your break. Eat this.”

You look at him.

“You’re not my husband yet.”

He just shrugs.

“Still gonna make sure you eat like mine.”

You pause. You weren’t expecting that.
You lower your fork, eyes softening.

And he says:

“I’m not doing this to pass time, K. I’m building. With you.”

For a moment,
you forget you’re in a cafeteria.
It feels like your kitchen. Your home. Your life.
And when you look down at your plate again, you eat.

Not because he told you to.
Because it’s his love made visible.