The first time I, India, saw Devon in the passing periods at East Bay High School, I turned to my friend Kyanah and said, “I’m going to date him one day.” To me, he was the quiet, mysterious guy with big headphones, rushing to class like he lived in his own world. Years later, while I was living in St. Petersburg for college, I was on FaceTime with Kyanah when she mentioned she was friends with Aiden. I told her he looked related to the boy I once saw in the hallway, and she said, “They’re brothers.” I was shocked that I knew Aiden and Tyler, yet somehow never met Devon—nor even knew his name. She gave me his Instagram and encouraged me to “shoot my shot.” Unsure but curious, I liked almost all his photos. He took the hint and messaged me with heart eyes. That same day, he was celebrating Tyler’s birthday—my brother M.J. was there too—which helped our conversation flow naturally. Before long, he asked for my number. A short time later, while his parents were on their yearly trip to Orange Lake, I drove to Riverview to visit him. He snuck me in, and that was the first time we met in person. We spent nearly every day together that week, sharing laughter, inside jokes, and an unexplainable feeling of something meant to be. We were two young adults healing from our own pasts, and our hearts recognized each other instantly. For the next year, we made our distance work—either I drove to Riverview or he spent weekends squeezed into my tiny 525 sq. ft. apartment in St. Pete. Those were some of our sweetest memories. His devotion to show up for me, to make me smile, and to be my friend meant more than he knew. We were trying to navigate life, purpose, and identity, and what drew us together most was our shared foundation: two people raised with love, faith, and a desire to truly know God. When my lease ended, we moved into a two-bedroom apartment as “friends,” just in case things didn’t work out. But God had His own plan for us. That season brought some of the hardest moments of our lives. We grieved deeply, questioned everything—and in that breaking, God rebuilt us. My grief led me to fully surrender my life to God, and I felt a responsibility to help bring His light back into places where darkness tried to settle. Devon had experienced a loss no one should ever face, and I wanted our home—and my presence—to reflect hope and comfort only God can give. I prayed that He would use me to restore what had been broken, not by my strength, but by being a vessel of His peace and love. Our first year together, we tried. Our second year tried us. But in one of my lowest moments, I felt God whisper, “See each other as I see you. Despite what you see right now, he is the one. Fight for what I’ve invested in you both.” We realized we needed to honor Him genuinely, and part of that obedience meant moving back home and no longer living under the same roof. It wasn’t easy, but it was right. That season tested our obedience and humbled us. We were brought to our knees more times than we can count, learning what it meant to surrender, to trust, and to love through the storms. Devon stepped into a quiet spiritual leadership—guiding us with patience and grace. Even when I felt like I had lost my vision emotionally and spiritually, he held my hand with a love that mirrored Christ’s. In my most vulnerable moments, he reminded me of our Savior, gently pulling me back toward healing, hope, and God’s presence. It was then I realized we were living inside answered prayers. After everything we walked through—the pruning, the rebuilding, the growth, and the grace—we stood stronger, refined, and rooted. We had done the hard work, loved each other through the ups and downs, the beautiful and the messy, and came out on the other side with hearts ready for forever. That was when I knew I was ready for our “I do’s.” Everything we have now, and everything we are becoming, is the fruit of God’s goodness. All glory to Him.