"While we wait for it to stop raining, we should write a poem—or maybe talk about when we first knew we were in love with each other," Charles suggested, his tone soft, yet filled with quiet mischief.
Augustine's lips curled into a lopsided smile as a chuckle escaped him. "Is that what you call an ideal date?" he asked, his voice dipped in teasing warmth.
Charles rolled his eyes at Augustine's question. "Do you have a better idea? Besides, don't you think it'd be nice for me to know exactly when you fell in love with me?"
The question hit Augustine with a quiet truth—it was reasonable, even sweet.
But still, a part of Augustine longed to do something bigger, something unforgettable for their first date. Something that would leave a mark deeper than just words.
Charles, his gaze fixed on Augustine, noticed the flicker of hesitation in Augustine's eyes—a swirl of mixed feelings over the simple date idea.
