Ceremony to begin at 11:30 AM

We dated. We didn't. We met again. He asked. I said "yes." We dated again.

So, for this story, we need to engage warp drive and slingshot around the sun back to 1994. I was in my second round of eighth grade—kind of like a time loop episode of Star Trek, but with more awkwardness and less technobabble. One day, I was sitting in class, minding my own business, when a folded-up note was passed to me. It was the 90s - that’s how we communicated! I looked to see where the note came from, and realized it was from this adorable kid at another table. A mop of brown hair, the kindest eyes I had ever noticed, and a smile that I can best describe as shy, but impish - just a hint of mischief. Opening the note, I saw the words “I think you’re cute. Will you go out with me?” And 2 checkboxes - one for yes, one for no. Wait a minute…Someone thought I was cute?!? What?!? I quickly checked “yes,” and sent it back. As soon as it was out of my hand, the thought struck me - my mom said I wasn’t allowed to date before I was 16…and I definitely wasn’t 16 yet. So, we went covert—cloaking device fully engaged. The rule? No approaching within two blocks of my house. Things were great. Walks around the neighborhood, going to the comic & card shops, stolen kisses at the bus stop. Standard-issue teenage romance. Then, as always, anxiety kicked in like a malfunctioning transporter. We were heading to different high schools. My schedule was about to go full Kobayashi Maru—hour-long commutes, rehearsals, performances. My brain, in true Decepticon fashion, started whispering doubts. Instead of talking, I pulled back into my shell, and what had been something really good fizzled out. And in the process, I hurt someone I cared about. For years, I regretted how I let it end, and never expected a second chance. But in 2016, time (or maybe a benevolent Time Lord) decided to hit the reset button. We’d both changed, evolved, leveled up our personal character arcs. And yet, at our core, we still had so much in common. Back then, I had no idea how to communicate what I was feeling. Now, I know I can ask the scary questions. (And thanks to her, I can even watch the scary movies…well, some of them, at least. Still working on not hiding like a redshirt on an away mission.) And so, here we are—decades, plot twists, and a few existential crises later. Thankfully, this Transformation has been a slow, careful process—more Bumblebee, less Michael Bay chaos. So far, life has been a multi-parter, and the resolution is still unknown. But what I do know is this: at least now, I’ve got someone to hold my hand when the scary parts come on.