The Box I Wasn’t Supposed to Open
My boyfriend, Colin, gave me a box labeled in bold: “Do Not Open.” I joked about it, promised not to peek. But then, he changed—distant, distracted, secretive. And one night, after everything spiraled, I opened it.
I used to have it all—a job I loved as a doctor, supportive friends, and Colin, the kind of man you only read about. We met at the hospital where he worked as a pediatrician. It was love at first sight. Two years in, we were planning to move in together when he brought over that mysterious box.
He brushed off my questions about it. “Just hold onto it,” he said. “Don’t open it.” I agreed, even teased him about it. But then he started acting strange. He left quickly after a suspicious text. My best friend Riley stopped replying to me, and I felt the cracks forming.
Days passed. Colin kept his distance. The silence grew heavier. One night, I saw a message pop up on his phone while he slept. I didn’t read it. But the doubt lingered.
Then I went to Riley’s house.
And saw them—laughing, touching, hugging. It shattered me. I confronted them, screamed, cried, and left.
Back home, I broke down. Then, I reached for the box.
Inside were photos, dried petals, and a jar labeled “100 Reasons I Love You.” Each note said the same thing: “Just because you are you.” There was a plush heart, and inside it, a ring box.
A knock. Colin.
He was breathless, panicked. “Riley was helping me,” he said. “I was planning to propose.”
I apologized through tears. I had let my fear ruin everything.
He took the box from me, got on one knee, and said, “Good thing I have a lifetime to figure it out. Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “Yes.”