In a world where Tinder can feel more like a battlefield than a fairytale, somehow—against all odds—we found each other. He swiped right, not because of a clever bio or a perfect selfie, but because he recognized the background of a sister martial arts school in one of my photos. As the chief instructor of his own school, he was curious—how had he never met me before? Intrigued, he decided to message me, and that small moment of curiosity turned into something much bigger. Our first in-person meeting wasn’t exactly romantic—it was on the mats at my martial arts center. My professor was so fascinated by him that he ended up giving him a private lesson before his fifth-degree black belt test… meaning our first date was, quite literally, hijacked by my instructor. (We still joke that our love story started as a third-wheel situation.) Our real first date came soon after, on Easter Sunday, during Mass at St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Roman Catholic Church. It was peaceful, heartfelt, and somehow felt meant to be. We spent the entire day together, and from that moment, our lives seemed to move in perfect sync—training, traveling to tournaments, and growing stronger side by side. Then came the proposal—a scene that could’ve been written by fate (or a romantic comedy writer). He chose World War II Weekend, an event deeply special to him since childhood. As a boy, he used to watch couples dance to swing music under the stars, dreaming that one day he’d dance with his person. On June 8, 2024, just after competing in ATA’s District Championships, he whisked me there. We explored the grounds, chatted with reenactors who looked like they’d stepped out of history, and learned a few 1940s swing dance steps before the hangar dance. When night fell, he led me toward the planes gleaming under the moonlight—his heart pounding, mine distracted by taking photos of every aircraft in sight. (In my defense, they were really cool.) After a few failed attempts to get my attention, he said, “Look at the moon—it’s beautiful tonight.” I turned back, and there he was, on one knee, holding a ring box. He asked, “Would you marry me?” I said yes!—and in true sitcom fashion, he promptly dropped the ring onto the airfield ground. We ended up laughing and searching for it under the moonlight, surrounded by vintage planes and swing music in the distance. It was imperfect, hilarious, and absolutely us.