I promise simply this: tonight mattered to me, and I want more of you.

I pledge to say I’m nervous and ask for a squeeze of your hand.

I promise to tell you when a song reminds me of you and why.

I vow to tell you the truth about my exes without oversharing.

I promise to hold your hand when the city noise makes you tense.

I pledge to keep my phone face down during dinner unless you say otherwise.

I vow to say I’m glad I met you tonight and mean it plainly.

I promise to be blunt when I’m jealous instead of sulking.

I pledge to be the person who replies, even if my day is busy.

I vow to tell you that tonight made me want to know you better.

I promise to make room on the couch for you and your coat.

I vow to be clear about what I need, instead of hoping you’ll guess.

I promise to hold the door even when you insist you can do it.

I pledge to share my umbrella and my bad playlists without hesitation.

I promise to laugh at your worst pun and then groan with you together.

I vow to be the person who remembers you prefer your eggs fried hard.

I promise to say thank you every time you pass the bread.

I vow to be the one who brings extra napkins because I noticed you drip sauce.

I pledge to accept your small annoyances as part of you, not projects to fix.

I promise to be present when you tell me about your day and not rehearse my next line.

I pledge to let you steal my sweater and to pretend it fits you better.

I vow to learn which coffee you actually like and to bring it without being asked.

I promise to admit I don’t have all the answers and to still try with you.

I pledge to tell you I’m thinking of you without expecting you to say it back.

I vow to save the last slice of pizza for you when you look at it with that face.

I vow to notice when you fidget with your scarf and ask if you’re cold.

I promise to bring you tea the morning after a late night, even if I’m running on two hours.

I pledge to keep small traditions we invent, like ordering the same dessert on anniversaries even if this is only a start.

I pledge to call you out gently when you bite your cuticles and then buy nail clippers.

I vow to text when I arrive home so you don’t wonder if I made it.

I pledge to tell you when I’m scared and not try to act bigger than I am.

I pledge to learn the name of your houseplant and to water it on Tuesdays.

I vow to ask if you want the window open and then actually open it if you do.

I promise to apologise when I’m late and not invent a story to cover it.

I pledge to bring you the jacket you left on the chair without making it a thing.

I vow to tell you plainly when I like you, even if my hands are shaking.

I pledge to be honest about the parts of me that still get nervous ordering coffee.

I vow to keep calling you when I see a terrible sci‑fi poster because I want you to groan with me.

I promise to remember how your laugh caught when the waiter dropped a tray tonight.

I keep replaying you sliding into that booth and imagining you sliding closer.