Andrew and I met at work—was it an earth-shattering, fireworks-exploding, love-at-first-sight moment? Not exactly. But when our eyes locked, there was something there, an unspoken connection, like two characters meeting in the first chapter of a really good novel.
I always believed that the secret ingredient to our love story wasn’t grand gestures or poetic declarations—it was friendship. That deep, unwavering trust, the kind that feels like home. We are loyal to each other in a way that only true partners can be, and our witty banter? It keeps us dancing through life like a perfectly choreographed routine.

And then there was his love for books—oh, how I adored that. A man who reads? Swoon. I thought it said something about him, something profound, something mysterious. But love, as it turns out, is also about unraveling the truth behind the things you romanticized. Fast forward to his best friend Chris, who, with a mischievous grin, revealed the plot twist of my own love story: Andrew hates reading. And his idea of a thriller is, well, Goosebumps.

But here’s the thing—true love isn’t about someone fitting the perfect checklist in your mind. It’s about loving them, quirks and all, even if it means rewriting the story you thought you knew. And with Andrew, every chapter is better than the last.

Love is funny like that—it sneaks up on you when you least expect it, turning playful banter into whispered confessions. I remember that moment in the car, I teased him, Promise me you won’t fall in love with me. And with that signature, knowing smirk, he replied, Oh, I won’t.
Fast forward a few months, and who was the first to say it? Him, of course. Love has a way of flipping the script when you think you have it all figured out.

It hasn’t always been effortless—his quick temper, my bratty charm—but maybe that’s what makes us work. Love isn’t just a fairy tale; it’s messy, complicated, full of stumbles and breakthroughs. But through it all, we stay. We fight for the friendship that started it all, for the laughter that keeps us light, for the kind of love that refuses to fade. Because the truest kind of romance? It’s not just about the falling. It’s about the staying.

From the moment I met Andrew, I knew he was something special. That smile—effortless, warm, the kind that makes you feel like the luckiest person in the world. I never imagined myself chasing a fairy tale or dreaming of wedding bells, but with him, suddenly, I wanted it all.
The most magical thing about loving Andrew? The way he loves me.

Love isn’t always loud—it doesn’t need a grand entrance or a poetic soliloquy except, well, sometimes it is. Because let’s be honest, who doesn’t love a little romance? And while heartfelt words make my heart flutter, I certainly won’t say no to a Louis bag. Some things, just add to the magic. I digress, Sometimes, love is quiet. It’s in the way his arms wrap around me, the way he listens—not just to my words but to the things I don’t say. It’s in the way I catch his gaze, and in that moment, I know—no guessing, no questioning, just knowing.

Every morning, I slip on my engagement ring, tracing its edges like a promise—a countdown to the day I become Mrs. Livingston. Love isn’t just a place you arrive at; it’s a feeling, a sanctuary, a home. And with him, I’m already there. With Andrew, I havea love that stretches beyond time, It’s not just a happily ever after—it’s the beginning of a lifetime of love.