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More and More Each Passing Day

The first time I met Jade, something shifted. It wasn’t fireworks—those are too loud. It was more like the hum of electricity, low and constant, lighting up something inside me. She walked in with a smile that felt like an invitation and mystery all at once, and I knew I’d never be the same.

We flirted like time wasn’t in a rush. It was never forced—just long glances, accidental touches, conversations that drifted from silly to soul-deep without either of us noticing. Getting to know her wasn’t a process, it was a pleasure. The way she laughed, the way she thought, the way she listened—Kobe, she listened. She made me want to be honest, to be better.

And as much as I fell for her heart, I couldn’t help but admire every curve, every gesture. Loving Jade wasn’t some cinematic fall—it was the kind of love that grows roots quietly, then suddenly you realize you’re home.

I can’t say exactly when I knew I had to propose. Maybe it was when she said she would choose my crammy bicycle over a private jet, or when she challenged me to carry her on her back just to make me feel strong. But I remember the moment clearly—I looked at her, and Love didn’t ask for proof anymore. It stood there, proud, natural, undeniable.

I asked her under the stars, voice shaking, heart steady. She said yes with a softness that broke me and rebuilt me in one breath.

Now, every day I wake up and wonder—how much more can I possibly love her? And every day, she shows me.