There’s a love that shouts.

And then there’s the love that waits quietly at the edges of your burnout.

He’d sit by me while I doom-scroll random medical papers, gaming walkthroughs, and baking science at 3 AM.

No criticism. No commentary. Just presence.

Once I apologized for being so tired all the time.

He smiled and said,

“You’re brilliant. Your mind moves too fast. I’ll wait wherever you land.”

It was the first time I realized:

Being loved gently is a type of miracle.

The strangest thing about getting married young:

Everyone assumes you become a wife and become an adult at the same time.

I became a wife.

The adult part lagged behind… buffering… crashing… restarting.

My executive functioning stayed in childhood while my responsibilities jumped ten levels up.

But he never demands that I “be more.”

He never holds a ruler to my chaos.

He simply… adapts.

I never cook. I do not clean. He shooed away expectations like houseflies.

I didn’t grow up that year.

But his patience did give me room to finally try.

I cried over laundry. (Folded and put away for me that no one expected me to do even though I’m married now)

And rice. (That I didn’t even cook but I thought I should have!)

And the idea of being responsible for anything.

It wasn’t sadness — it was overwhelm.

My ADHD fog was thick enough to cut with a kitchen knife.

He’d take things from my hands and say,

“Sit. I’ve got it.”

A newlywed bride sitting on the kitchen floor googling “how to be a functioning adult” was not the aesthetic I imagined.

But there I was.

Some girls have honeymoon phases.

I had meltdown phases.

But he never flinched.

I used to think adulthood would knock politely before entering.

Instead, it barged in wearing gaudy gold jewelry and carrying a wedding date.

We married suddenly.

YEARS earlier than planned.

Unforeseen issues, family storms, and the kind of cultural pressure that pulls time forward by force.

And yet…

He stood there — calm, steady, warm — almost too patient for someone marrying a girl whose brain was permanently buffering.

He looked at me like I was a whole galaxy in the middle of an eclipse.

Sometimes destiny isn’t poetic. Sometimes it’s chaotic, rushed, and confusing.

But that day?

Even with everything swirling — the exhaustion, the fear, the ADHD static — I finally felt chosen. Not forced upon everyone like an unfortunate disappointment…or an imperfect daughter.