The Story of Us
Our love story.
For seven months, a dear friend had urged her toward the dating apps, and for seven months, she laughed and refused. You may need a whole year, the friend would say, to find the kind, responsible soul you are hoping for. Best to begin now. At last, on an unremarkable weekday, she gave in, joining quietly, half-hiding her face, expecting nothing and hoping for everything.
Among the many greetings that found her, one gentleman stood apart: before she had even learned his name, he had liked not one but three of her photographs. She answered with the only icebreaker she trusted: she called him Pretty Face, because he truly had one, and she meant to find out whether it was real. Then, being honest to a fault, she told him plainly who she was, so he would never be sorry for the time he spent. He was not sorry. He was intrigued, for in his experience warmth was rare, and he stayed.
“How was your day?”Four small words, and everything began
The next evening a single question arrived: “How was your day?” Such a small thing, and yet something in her shifted, for he had come back. A coffee break was arranged for early the next morning. She ran there, more afraid he would think she had stood him up than that she would arrive breathless. And breathless she arrived, eight minutes late, apologising before she had even found her seat.
He never once mentioned the lost minutes. By his own telling he was far too taken to mind them: she was prettier in person than any photograph had shown. And Trevor, quick to see a gift where another might have seen a mishap, seized the moment. When she reached for her card to pay for her own cup, he stopped her gently, and before the cups were empty he had asked for the pleasure of seeing her again.
At the little junction where their two paths part each day, he asked for her number, only to keep talking, he said. That same afternoon they set out walking, mile upon mile, speaking of life and of love until the evening closed around them and neither had noticed the hours pass. By the week’s end she had made her quiet decision: she deleted the apps and sent him the proof. His answer came at once: “You motivate me a lot, and I think I want to have something serious with you. I think I’m beginning to fall in love with you.” And before the night was out, his own were gone too.
When her birthday drew near, she wished only to spend it in worship, and he, who has never once let an open door pass him by, threw it wide: come to church with me. His mother, who keeps another Sunday habit entirely, came that morning for one purpose alone: to meet the girl her son had been speaking of. There she met his whole family at once, and their warmth told her everything a heart needs to know. This union had every chance, if only they let it.
To this day, they take their tea break together in the middle of the day. The rest, as they say, is history, and this is us today.