I’ve always been soft when it comes to my girl. I’m Miles, and I suppose I have the personality of a shy puppy trapped inside the body of a hopeless nerd.

My brown hair is perpetually messy, my glasses sit crooked whenever I’ve been reading for too long, and my oversized sweaters make me look even softer than I actually am. I love books, astronomy, puzzles, and filling notebooks with little observations, but nothing makes me light up like seeing her.

My girl is sharp, elegant, and effortlessly beautiful. She always looks perfectly styled, with sleek hair, delicate jewelry, and clothes that make an ordinary day feel important. She carries herself with confidence, her expression composed and her eyes observant. I love watching that confidence completely soften whenever she looks at me.

I’m naturally affectionate with her. I follow her around with whatever book I’m reading and instinctively move closer whenever she reaches for me. Being near her simply feels right.

Her gentle fingers through my hair are probably my favorite thing.

Whenever she gently scratches my scalp or smooths my messy hair away from my forehead, a quiet little whimper slips out of me. I never stop it. It’s simply the sound of being content. I’ll close my eyes, lean into her hand, and melt beneath her touch, fingers catching her sleeve.

Sometimes she’ll cup my cheek, and I’ll immediately turn my face into her palm. Another soft whimper leaves me as I nuzzle against her hand, completely comfortable showing her how much I love the affection.

I’m especially puppy-like when she comes home.

The second I hear the door, I look up from whatever I’m doing. My attention immediately shifts toward her, and I’m already on my feet. I’ll walk over with a smile, take whatever she’s carrying, and stay close.

If she reaches for me afterward, I’m practically attached to her.

Sometimes we sit together while she works, and I’ll rest my head against her shoulder. If her fingers begin tracing through my hair, I’ll relax further and let out those tiny happy whimpers without a second thought. I love showing her how safe and loved I feel.

Other times, she’ll fix my glasses when they slip down my nose. Her fingertips brush my temples as she adjusts them, and I instinctively lean toward her touch. She’ll smooth my hair afterward, and I’ll give her another soft whimper before resting my cheek against her shoulder.

I think she knows by now.

Every little sound is just another way of saying that I love her.

When we walk together, I naturally stay close to her side. Sometimes our hands swing between us before our fingers find each other. I’ll squeeze her hand gently, and if she squeezes back, my entire face brightens.

I’m not embarrassed by any of it.

Why would I be?

She’s my love. My girl. The person I trust enough to let my softest parts show.

So if I want to curl against her side, follow her around like a puppy, hold her hand everywhere we go, or whimper happily whenever she runs her fingers through my hair, I’ll do it.

Loving her has never felt like something I should hide.