But time passed. Seasons changed. I started writing again. Small stories at first, then longer ones. Luis encouraged it. He even built me a little writing nook in his apartment, with plants and fairy lights.
One night, two years after we met, he made me pancakes for dinner.
“I have a question,” he said, setting down the plate. “But only if you’re ready.”
I looked at him, heart pounding in a familiar way. But this time, it wasn’t fear. It was excitement.
“Okay,” I said.
He pulled out a small box from his pocket. Inside was a simple silver band with a small blue stone.
“I don’t want a big wedding,” he said. “I don’t need a tuxedo or a crowd. I just want you. At city hall. Tomorrow. Or whenever you’re ready. No pressure.”
I started crying before I could say anything. Then I nodded. “Yes. Yes. A hundred times yes.”
We got married the next week. No dress, no aisle. Just us, two witnesses, and the lady at the courthouse who smiled like she’d seen this kind of magic before.
