i love you.

shh it's a secret.

i have a boyfriend.

nobody knows about him.

he appears once on my instagram photo dump, a fleeting, brief image that showcases him leaning against a farm fence with my brother, both of them smirking into the camera. to the unknowing eye, he’s just another close friend from my friend group. to me, he’s everything.

(and no, it is not an illicit relationship, we are the same age, in the same friend group, are only dating each other.)

every time my phone lights up and i try not to smile in public — that’s him. any time we send each other the cow emoji (🐮) — it’s our way of saying “i love you” when people are around us. every time i run out of the classroom after school, claiming that “my mom is here to pick me up” — i’m about to run to the back alley a block away and get the warmest hug of my life.

this valentine’s day, while the internet proclaims their love in public, i’m writing about the kind of love that exists off-camera. the kind that that doesn’t need a soft launch from me to feel real.

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487 days. that’s how long we’ve been together.

four hundred and eighty seven days of beaming wide at each other during the few classes we have together. of timing our exits just right. of pretending not to notice each other when other people are watching — and noticing everything when they’re not.

it’s a strange thing, loving someone in secret.

there are no public milestones. no comments saying “couple goals”. no digital trail to scroll back on when i want proof that this is real.

but i don’t need a highlight reel.

i have 487 days of memories that belong only to us. we’ve been through everything together, from the first shy hug to us having arm wrestling competitions.

my favourite memory of us was after an argument. it wasn’t a particularly big one — nothing major had happened, only pent up stress and my frustration of the feeling of not feeling prioritized haunting me everywhere. we got upset at each other. we said “goodnight, love you” coolly and ended the night with that.

an hour later, he texted me “i can’t sleep, are you okay?” the same time i texted “i love you, can we talk this out?”.

15 minutes later, i shoved everything into my bag in my bag and raced down to the library front. he had sprinted over from his sister’s university dorm a few streets away, still slightly out of breath when i pushed through the doors.

we just stood there for a second. it was 12am.

no dramatic music. no cinematic rain. just fluorescent lights, the quiet hum of the library behind me, and both of us looking a little embarrassed for how fast we’d moved.

then i burst into tears. he immediately scooped me up into a hug, and that was it.

it was a scene straight out of a movie. within seconds, my insecurities melted away, his face relaxed into his grin, and all the frustrations about not feeling prioritized dissolved in the simple fact that he ran. that when it mattered, when it was uncomfortable and inconvenient and late, he chose to show up instead of staying stubborn.

i love him.

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sometimes i do wonder what it would be like to love him publicly. to post him without overthinking. to let the world witness what i get to experience every day.

but this feels sacred, too.

because loving each other in secret has taught me the difference between performance and presence. there are no outsiders inserting opinions. no insincere advice from people who don’t know us. it’s just two teenagers choosing each other, over and over, without needing applause.

why do i love him?

i love him because of the dreams he has for his future. he’s interested in stocks, trading, badminton. he wants to build something. he wants to become something.

he is one of the most honest people i’ve ever met.

his loyalty isn’t grand speeches or dramatic gestures. it’s him defending me in conversations i’ll never hear. showing up at midnight. staying. him never even glancing at other girls, to the point where our unsuspecting friends believe that he’s either scared of women, gay, or asexual.

i love his eyes, one more lidded than the other. his long, long lashes that i’m ridiculously envious of, and his little mole above his upper lip.

i love his humour, his ability to make me laugh only seconds after i was sobbing my heart out.

i love his constant reassurance, our conversations that never dry up despite the fact that we text all day, every day. i love our video calls that start with studying and end with us just talking about life.

i love his dreams for our future, beautiful yet not unrealistic. we know that we’re young, we have so much time, and things may come up unexpectedly. but we’re cautious, and we take it day by day.

i love it when he peppers kisses all over my face, or when he listens when i ramble on about the newest article i read on substack.

i love that when i was devastated over not getting tickets to my favourite artist’s concert, he assured me full-heartedly that he’ll dance and sing for me on the day of the concert, and that it’s an exclusive viewing for my eyes only.

i love his confidence, his hair, his face, his hands, his sighs, his voice, and his giggles that he accidentally lets slip out when he thinks i can’t hear him.

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so no, nobody knows about him.

they don’t know about our inside jokes, the clothes that we wear in public that we secretly bought each other, or the smiles across the room that carry more meaning than anything else in my life.

they don’t know how steady he is. how kind. how intentional.

but i do.

and maybe that’s enough.

this love may not live on my social media, but it lives in my everyday. and one day, when we graduate, everyone will finally know that we have been choosing each other deliberately — through every up and every down.

487 days.

happy valentine’s, my love.

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ingrid xx.