We met in a music collective. He was an artist on the album. I was a screenwriter for their music videos. One weekend, the artists had a live show in San Jose. It was my first time meeting everyone. Joash came up to me. Almost everyone thought he was flirting. I didn’t. That night, we stayed up until 5 a.m. Telling childhood stories. Talking about music, God, and trying to crack each other’s personality type like it was a competition. Over the next few weeks, we kept running into each other. Grocery aisles. Coffee shops. Church. Birthday parties. Group hangouts. Even when we weren’t trying. Somehow, we were always the last ones around. Talking after everyone went home and until the sun rose. We avoided calling it romantic. But we had a hard time saying goodbye. Neither of us had ever stayed up that late just wanting to talk to someone. Two months in, Joash finally asked me out. Our friends started predicting our wedding. We wanted to puke. The date came. His nerves disappeared. Mine didn’t. We had a picnic in the park. Climbed the roof of my old apartment to watch the sunset. Then ended up in his backyard treehouse under fairy lights. He brought me mango (which, in my world, is like bringing me flowers—although he brought those too). We talked until 2 a.m. this time. Better boundaries. We took turns asking each other questions. About God. Values. Childhood. Family. Friends. Dreams. That’s when we both knew. This was the person we’d been waiting for. We didn’t say it yet. Not until five months later, when Joash first told me he wanted to marry me. Our love story is better than anything we could have written. We know it’s because we let God lead the way. And boy, is He a romantic. But more than that, He’s good. He knows what you need. He gives you what you didn’t even know to ask for. We’ve seen it firsthand. And we’re forever grateful.