Where do I even begin with the whirlwind that has been my marriage to Alex? It started out like a fairy tale, with the kind of love story you’d expect to see in a cheesy rom-com. We met in college, of all places, with a classic meet-cute at the campus café — spilled coffee and all. But things took a turn when it was time for our baby to arrive.
When Alex and I first crossed paths, I was knee-deep in literature, always lost in a world of daydreams and scribbled verses. Meanwhile, Alex was the practical engineering whiz who somehow managed to make differential equations sound downright romantic.
In those early days, our differences were charming. I was all about Emily Dickinson and late-night poetry readings, while Alex was knee-deep in robotics projects.
Somehow, though, it just worked. Our dates ranged from passionate debates over the best Star Wars movie (clearly, it’s The Empire Strikes Back) to cozy nights in, with me reading my latest piece while Alex tinkered away on his gadgets. It was quirky, it was fun, and most importantly, it was ours.
