It all began on a cloudy day that carried the quiet hum of something special in the air. The sky hung low, heavy with the promise of rain, but we didn’t care. We met, almost like it was meant to happen that exact way, that exact day.

We found ourselves in a nearby park, surrounded by the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional hush of the wind brushing past us. The world felt muted, like it had quieted down just so we could hear each other more clearly. We talked — not small talk, not the kind of words that fill time — but real talk, honest and open. We laughed until our cheeks hurt, like old friends who had finally found each other again in a new life.

Then the rain came.

Not suddenly, but slowly, gently, like the sky was blessing what was unfolding between us. We didn’t run for cover. We stood there, in that park, letting the rain wash over us, letting the moment become a memory. And right then, under that soft gray sky. It was quiet, simple, and perfect, “This is the start of something real.”

Later, we wandered into the heart of the city, hand in hand, still laughing, still feeling like the world had narrowed to just the two of us. We ended up in Times Square — not for the lights or the noise or the crowds — but for a slice of food and a place to sit, side by side. We ate, people-watched, and admired the city together like it was our own secret place, even in the chaos.

That day wasn't planned. It wasn’t polished. But it was real. And it was ours.

And that’s how our story began — not with grand gestures, but with rain, laughter, and the simple, undeniable feeling that something beautiful had just begun.