The party was relaxed, yet still quite loud and full of chatter. The music was drowned out by the voices filling the room, the clatter of wine glasses on wood, the crackling of a wooden-wicked candle. There was truly no place I’d rather be– surrounded by friends, new and old, and great conversation. 

I was lounging on a brown leather loveseat with one of my friends, talking with a friend of mine. I was dressed simply, in just straight leg jeans and a tighter turtleneck, my brunette curls free to fall over my shoulders. 

The front door opened, and my attention turned towards it. Another friend entered, smiling wide. Those near me greeted him as he walked towards us. 

“Long time, no see!” He said. “Work has been crazy busy, but great.” He settled down onto the couch, shifting to make himself comfortable between us. “I want you all to meet one of my coworkers. I think he’d totally fit in with our group, so I invited him along!”

“Oh cool,” Someone else replied, leaning back against the leather. “When’s he coming?”

“Well–” He reached his hand into the front pocket of his hoodie. When he removed it, a tiny man, about three inches tall, sat upon it. “It was cold out, and I knew it would take awhile to walk here if I didn’t carry him…” He started to explain, as the tiny laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. 

My friend leaned forward, splaying his palm out atop the coffee table so that my new acquaintance could walk off.  

I had seen tinies before– I knew a bunch, actually. Both those who were born that way or caught the virus. After the initial wave, the world started to adapt– making transportation, housing, and jobs all tiny-accessible. They were fully integrated into our society, despite the occasional prejudice from those who believed them to be lesser or non-human. That was never the case within my friend group and family. 

What I mean to say is, I am very familiar with tinies and their way of life. In no way do they shock me. 

But this one– I was enamored. Immediately. And that was the first time I saw him. 

His mannerisms and that sweet dorky smile.

It felt as if my face had caught fire from how flushed I got. 

He made himself comfortable atop the table, one of my acquaintances bringing him a tiny loveseat that they kept in case of small visitors. He became enveloped in the conversation quickly, as if he had been there the whole time. 

“Dude,” My friend whispered, nudging me out of my focus. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing, I just—”

“Hey! They told me you work in healthcare too. What do you do?” A quieter voice yelled up to me over the party’s ambiance.

My gaze turned towards the source, and there stood that handsome, miniature man. I grinned. 

We spent the next two hours talking. He sat on the edge of the coffee table, legs dangling as he spoke. I leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees, my chin in my hands. I’m sure it was ridiculously obvious that I was infatuated. 

The party began to die down. Friends began to say their goodbyes. 

He stood up, smiling up at me. I smiled down at him. 

“I could… take you home if you want?” I asked nervously. 

He nodded. I swear I saw him blush. 

And so I walked him home, his tiny being cupped in the palms of my soft, manicured hands. Little did I know, this talkative, passionate, nerd would later on become my husband.