Technically, we met in Jamaica. Our friend Tim invited Clinton to a spring break trip with more than 30 people from our business fraternity. I don’t remember interacting with Clinton, but he claims that I approached him at the airport and introduced myself. Either way, the timing wasn’t right and we went our separate ways. Two years later, we once again found ourselves together in the Caribbean during spring break. This time, in typical broke college student fashion, we were crammed into a hotel room with way too many other friends. During scooter trips, boat rides, beach football, and night swims, in between dollar rum shots and endless conch, we began to get to know each other. I was intrigued by this judo athlete and, lets be real, his abs. Clinton accused me of being a nerd, not inaccurately, because I was reading a fantasy novel. Little did he know that he too would be sucked into the Game of Thrones universe when the show aired the following year. A spark must have formed under the Bahamian sun, because we continued to find reasons to hang out after the trip. Less than a month later, we drove eight hours through farmland and desert to Coachella. In what would be a miraculous feat now, Clinton easily bought tickets a week before the festival and I immediately agreed to go, telling myself it was mainly for the amazing lineup. Our poor friend Shell shared a tent with us and quickly realized something was brewing as she increasingly felt like a third wheel. For three days we danced, reveled in the music, drank trunk-warmed Popov, and struggled to shower. Finally, as Phoenix played while the sunset colored the sky pink and the fields golden, we kissed.

I suppose, technically, that I proposed on a breezy spring day under the cherry blossoms in our nation’s capital. I researched the painfully uninteresting world of rings and enlisted the help of a ring designer. I tested out numerous jackets to ensure a quick draw. Day of, I talked absent-mindedly to Aileen as we strolled along the Tidal Basin, scanning for a quiet spot and the perfect moment. I wished ill thoughts on the kids running amok, hordes of tourists, and elderly people moseying along, who all seemed to share the goal of ruining my day. Eventually, thankfully, that perfect moment came, and down on one knee, I proposed. But thinking back, I believe that the real proposal happened eight years ago. After meeting in the Bahamas, we talked every day, hesitant to appear too eager but unable to restrain ourselves. Aileen’s authenticity and self-reliance shined. At Coachella, I was thoroughly impressed when Aileen set up our tent and drove the entire eight hours back. Underneath all the excitement, I sensed a calm and enduring bond and developed a conviction in our connection. One day, merely a couple months in, before I had even officially asked her to be my girlfriend, I told Aileen that I loved her. I casually slipped our hypothetical marriage and future kids into the conversation too, ready to play it off as a joke if she took it poorly. She thought I was a little crazy, but since that conversation I believe our hearts were aligned. Our hearts were aligned even when she held a sought-after job and I was going into debt for access to an uncertain legal market. Our hearts were aligned even when I brushed tears off her face at the airport as I prepared to relocate to DC, our futures uncertain. Sure, I officially proposed to Aileen on March 19, 2017. That moment felt inevitable though ever since the conversation eight years ago. It featured no trinkets, maintained a quiet significance, and was preserved only in our memories and, now, this story.