Rain lashed against the windows of their third-floor Chicago apartment, effectively canceling any guilt Maya felt about staying in. She stood at the stove, gently stirring a simmering pot of mushroom risotto. The savory scent of garlic and thyme filled the small kitchen. Four years ago today, she and David had shared awkwardly overpriced sushi on their first date. Tonight, they were perfectly content in sweatpants.

The deadbolt clicked, and David pushed through the front door, wrestling a dripping umbrella into the stand.

"It's officially a monsoon out there," he called out, shrugging off his wet jacket. He walked into the kitchen, leaning over to kiss Maya's cheek. "But I secured the cargo."

He placed a damp brown paper bag on the counter, revealing a bottle of Cabernet and two slices of tiramisu from the Italian bakery down the street.

"You're a hero," Maya said, turning the heat down on the stove. "Grab the bowls? It’s just about ready."

David nodded, reaching into the upper cabinets. "I can't believe it's been four years. Feels like we just signed the lease on this place." He set the bowls on their tiny dining table, carefully wiping away a stray water droplet, then grabbed a corkscrew from the drawer.

"I know," Maya smiled, bringing the heavy pot over and dividing the creamy rice between their dishes. "Though my cooking has definitely improved since year one."

"Hey, I survived the burnt pasta phase," David laughed, effortlessly popping the cork and pouring the dark red wine into two glasses.

He handed her a glass and raised his own. Maya tapped her rim against his, the gentle clink echoing in the warm, softly lit room.

"Happy anniversary, Maya."

"Happy anniversary," she said, leaning into him. "Now, let's eat before it gets cold."


Maya dropped her canvas tote on the entryway bench, the dull hum of the Chicago traffic fading as Liam closed the apartment door behind them.

“Happy four years,” Liam said, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder.

Maya leaned back, letting out a long exhale. “Happy four years. I’m so glad we didn't make reservations anywhere.”

“Absolutely,” Liam agreed, releasing her to open the refrigerator. “The thought of yelling across a table in a crowded restaurant right now makes my head pound. So, what’s the game plan? I bought that Cabernet you like from Trader Joe's.”

Maya slipped off her shoes, her stockinged feet padding against the hardwood. “Perfect. I was thinking we recreate our first date, but strictly in sweatpants. Pad Thai and a terrible sci-fi movie.”

“I can order from Thai Spice if you queue up the movie,” Liam offered, pulling out his phone. “Drunken noodles for you, Panang curry for me?”

“You know me so well,” Maya said. She walked into the living room, grabbing the thick woven blanket off the back of the sofa. “But we need to actually light those expensive candles your mom got us for Christmas. Atmosphere is key.”

Liam laughed, dialing the restaurant. While he placed the order, Maya dimmed the overhead lights and struck a match, filling the room with the warm scent of pine and amber. By the time Liam walked in with two poured glasses of wine, their small living room had transformed into a cozy sanctuary.

He handed her a glass and clinked the rim gently against hers. “To four years.”

“To us,” Maya replied, taking a sip. “Now, hurry up and sit. I found a movie with a three-percent rating on Rotten Tomatoes, and the food will be here in twenty minutes.”


Rain lashed against the windows of their third-floor Brooklyn apartment, but inside, the air was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Maya bumped her hip against the kitchen drawer to close it, balancing two mismatched wine glasses in one hand and a freshly opened bottle of Pinot Noir in the other.

"Are you sure you don't mind staying in?" she asked, setting the glasses on the narrow granite counter. "Five years is a big deal. We could have braved the storm for that fancy Italian place downtown."

Liam looked up from the wooden cutting board, wiping mushroom residue from his hands onto an apron he’d permanently stained with turmeric months ago. "I'm positive. The Italian place is loud, overpriced, and requires me to wear real pants." He took the wine bottle from her and poured generous measures into both glasses. "Besides, my mushroom risotto is better."

Maya laughed, accepting her glass. She walked over to the small dining table, unfurling a pair of dark green cloth napkins she had bought specifically for tonight. While Liam actively tended the stove, patiently stirring a ladle of simmering broth into the Arborio rice, Maya queued up a playlist of their favorite low-fi jazz and dimmed the overhead lights. She then pulled out a worn deck of cards from the bookshelf, placing it squarely in the center of the table.

"Risotto, wine, and a ruthless game of Gin Rummy," Liam said, glancing over his shoulder with a grin as the kitchen filled with steam. "Happy anniversary, babe."

"Happy anniversary," Maya smiled, walking back to the stove to wrap her arms around his waist. Neither of them felt the rush to get married, nor the pressure to perform a grand romantic gesture. In their small, shared orbit, this quiet Tuesday night was exactly what a celebration was meant to be.


Rain tapped gently against the windows of their third-floor Chicago apartment, perfectly matching the mood Maya and Leo had agreed upon for their fourth anniversary. There would be no crowded downtown restaurants tonight, and no overpriced tasting menus.

Leo stood at the kitchen island, rolling out fresh pasta dough. A streak of flour dusted his dark beard, a casualty of his intense focus. "Hey," he said, looking up as Maya dumped her wet umbrella by the door. "Your timing is perfect. The ragù has been simmering for three hours."

"It smells incredible," Maya said, shrugging off her coat and stepping out of her damp boots. She walked over, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind and resting her chin on his shoulder. "Happy anniversary, babe."

"Happy anniversary," Leo smiled, turning to press a kiss to her forehead. "Wine is on the counter. Your turn to play sommelier."

Maya stepped to the counter, taking charge of the corkscrew and the bottle of Barolo they had bought on a whim last Thanksgiving. She expertly extracted the cork and poured two generous glasses, handing one across the island. "To four years of putting up with my terrible taste in reality television," she toasted, clinking her glass against his.

"And to four years of pretending I don't secretly watch it with you," Leo laughed. He took a sip before turning back to the stove, dropping the fettuccine into a pot of boiling water.

Together, they moved through the familiar, comfortable choreography of their small kitchen. Maya set the dining table with their everyday plates and lit a single taper candle, while Leo tossed the pasta in the rich sauce. It wasn't grand or cinematic, but as they sat down across from each other, the warm glow of the apartment felt exactly like the beautiful, quiet life they had built together.


Maya nudged the refrigerator door shut with her hip, a cluster of fresh basil in one hand and a block of parmesan in the other. At the kitchen island, Liam closed his laptop, rubbing the bridge of his nose after a long day of remote work.

"So, about Thursday," Maya said, washing the basil in the sink. "Five years. Are we absolutely tied to that reservation at Trattoria Stella? Because I'm looking at our work schedules, and getting dressed up to go downtown sounds exhausting."

Liam chuckled, sliding off his barstool to take the cheese grater from the drying rack to help with their weeknight dinner. "I was actually going to ask you the same thing. I love you, but the idea of shouting over a crowded dining room is less than appealing."

"Thank God," Maya sighed, leaning against the counter. "Quiet night in?"

"Definitely," Liam agreed, already pulling a cutting board toward him. "Let's do this: I'll make my mushroom risotto. I can stop by the wine shop on my way home from the office Thursday and grab a bottle of that Pinot Noir we had on our trip to Oregon."

"Oh, I'd love that," Maya said, her face lighting up. "If you're covering the main course and the wine, I’ll take care of dessert. I can leave the clinic a little early and swing by the bakery on 4th Street for those chocolate tarts you like."

"Deal." Liam stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her temple. "And we can finally watch that murder mystery documentary you’ve been saving."

"Risotto, wine, and true crime?" Maya smiled, leaning into his warmth. "It’s the perfect anniversary."

They stood there for a quiet moment in the warm glow of their kitchen, perfectly in sync, entirely content with the life they had built together.


Rain lashed against the windows of their third-floor Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was a warm haven of garlic and roasting rosemary. Maya pulled the cast-iron skillet from the oven, using a worn oven mitt she’d brought from her old place when they moved in together three years ago.

"Chicken's done," she called over her shoulder. "How are we doing on the ambiance, director?"

Liam emerged from the living room, a stack of vinyl records balanced on his arm and two mismatched wine glasses in his hands. "Candles are lit. Coltrane is queued up. Wine is breathing, though frankly, so am I after navigating that grocery store parking lot." He set the glasses on the butcher block island and stepped in to kiss her cheek. "Happy four years, by the way."

"Happy four years," Maya smiled, bumping her hip affectionately against his. "I still can't believe you convinced me to skip the fancy downtown restaurant for this."

"Hey, you were the one who complained about the prices at Le Petit Maison. I merely offered a highly competitive alternative." Liam reached into the fridge to grab the salad he had prepped earlier, tossing it quickly with a lemon vinaigrette. "Plus, the dress code here is strictly sweatpants-optional."

Together, they carried the food to the small dining table Liam had draped in a surprisingly nice linen cloth. There were no diamond rings or sweeping romantic declarations planned for the evening, just the comfortable rhythm of two people who knew exactly how they wanted to celebrate. Maya poured the Cabernet while Liam carefully carved the chicken. As the smooth saxophone drifted from the record player, they clinked their glasses together, perfectly content in the quiet life they had built under one roof.


Rain lashed against the windows of their third-floor Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Maya stood at the butcher-block counter, rhythmically chopping fresh basil. It was their four-year anniversary, and after a grueling work week, the prospect of navigating a crowded, overpriced downtown restaurant held zero appeal for either of them.

"So, the debate continues," Julian announced, walking into the kitchen. He dropped his damp raincoat over a barstool and held up two worn DVD cases he’d dug out of a closet box they still hadn't unpacked. "Do we celebrate our love with *Goodfellas* or *When Harry Met Sally*?"

Maya scraped the basil into a simmering pot of marinara sauce and wiped her hands on a dish towel. She leaned against the counter, surveying him with an amused smile. "You really want to watch mobsters whack each other on our anniversary?"

"Romance takes many forms," Julian deadpanned, though he was already tossing the mobster flick onto the coffee table. He stepped into the narrow kitchen, wrapped his arms around Maya’s waist, and kissed her forehead. "Romantic comedy it is. I also stopped by the corner store and found that Oregon Pinot Noir you liked so much last Thanksgiving."

"You're a hero," Maya said, handing him a corkscrew from the drawer. "Open that while I drain the pasta. The garlic bread has about two minutes left."

They moved around each other with the practiced choreography of two people who knew how to share a small space. Julian poured the dark ruby wine into two mismatched glasses while Maya carried the steaming bowls of rigatoni to the living room.

They settled onto the worn leather sofa, pulling a woven throw blanket over their laps. As Julian hit play on the remote, Maya clinked her glass against his.

"Happy four years," she said softly.

Julian smiled, squeezing her hand. "Best quiet night in yet."


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the atmosphere was warm and decidedly lazy. Maya leaned against the open refrigerator door, staring down a half-empty carton of almond milk and some wilting kale.

"I'm calling it," she said, shutting the door with a soft thud. "Cooking is officially off the table for tonight."

From the couch, Liam looked up from his phone, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Way ahead of you. I already have the Thai place pulled up. Pad See Ew for you, Panang curry for me?"

"You know me so well. Happy four years, babe," Maya laughed, walking over to press a quick kiss to the top of his head.

They had briefly discussed making a reservation at a trendy new Italian place downtown to celebrate the anniversary of their first date. But after a grueling week of work and the sudden drop in temperature, staying in their worn sweatpants felt like the ultimate luxury.

While Liam finalized the order and paid for the delivery, Maya retrieved the expensive bottle of Cabernet they had bought on a weekend trip to Napa last summer. "If we're eating takeout out of cardboard boxes, we are at least drinking the good wine," she declared, expertly twisting the corkscrew.

"Deal," Liam said. He stood up to dim the overhead lights, clicking on the small, amber-glowing lamps scattered around the room instead. He grabbed the thick knit blanket from the armchair, draped it over the sofa, and queued up the terrible, low-budget sci-fi movie they had watched on their very first date.

By the time the doorbell rang thirty minutes later, the wine was breathing, the room was cozy, and they were exactly where they wanted to be—together.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, making the glowing screen of Liam’s laptop seem overly bright. He closed it with a decisive snap, sliding his glasses down his nose.

"I'm calling it," Liam announced, standing up to stretch. "No emails after six. Not tonight."

Maya looked up from the kitchen island, where she was meticulously arranging a charcuterie board. She offered a warm, knowing smile. "Good. Happy four years, by the way."

"Happy four years," he echoed, stepping into the kitchen to wrap his arms around her waist. "Now, about our reservation at The Birch..."

Maya sighed, glancing at the rain drumming against the glass. "Honestly? The thought of putting on heels and paying fifty dollars for an Uber in this weather makes me want to cry."

"Thank God," Liam laughed, dropping his chin to her shoulder. "I was dreading the drive. So, what’s the alternative? Sweatpants and the couch?"

"Sweatpants, absolutely," Maya said, turning around to face him. "But let's make it an event. I’ll open that bottle of Cabernet we brought back from Napa. You see if Little Thai Kitchen is still delivering in this downpour."

"Pad Kee Mao for you, Panang curry for me," Liam confirmed, already pulling his phone from his pocket. "And what are we watching?"

"I'm putting on *Goodfellas*," she declared, stepping away to grab the wine key from the drawer. "You complained last week that we haven't watched a classic in months."

Liam smiled, tapping in the restaurant's number. As Maya pulled the cork with a satisfying pop, the apartment filled with the quiet, comfortable rhythm they had built together—a simple celebration far better than any crowded dining room.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the atmosphere was warm and steeped in the scent of roasting garlic. Julian stood at the kitchen island, meticulously chopping basil and halving cherry tomatoes. He wiped a stray curl from his forehead with the back of his wrist, glancing over at Maya.

"Remind me," Julian said, scraping the tomatoes into a simmering skillet. "Did it rain this hard four years ago?"

Maya effortlessly popped the cork on a bottle of Chianti and reached for two oversized wine glasses. "Worse," she said, pouring the dark red vintage. "I had to wring out my scarf in the bathroom of that terrible tapas place. The one with the sticky tables."

"Ah, yes. The sticky tables," Julian laughed, turning down the heat on the stove and tossing the pasta. "And yet, you still agreed to come back to my cramped studio afterward."

"You promised me you had a working heater. You lied." Maya walked around the counter, handing him a glass. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "Happy anniversary, Jules."

"Happy anniversary," he smiled, clinking his glass against hers.

They had originally debated going to a downtown steakhouse to mark four years since their first date, but as the exhausting work week dragged on, the shared fantasy of sweatpants and homemade rigatoni had easily won out.

Maya carried the wine to the small wooden dining table she had spent the late afternoon clearing of mail and stray laptops. She lit two tapered candles, instantly softening the room's glow. Julian followed closely behind, carrying the steaming ceramic bowl of dinner.

As they sat down together, the storm outside seemed to fade. There was no grand gesture or expensive reservation tonight, just the quiet, comfortable life they had built together.


The rain drumming against the living room window made the decision easy. Maya and Liam had debated making reservations at the upscale bistro downtown to celebrate exactly three years since they made their relationship official, but their shared apartment felt much more inviting.

"So, sweatpants and carbs?" Liam asked, setting a damp grocery bag on the kitchen island. He shrugged off his coat, shaking the Seattle drizzle from his hair.

Maya smiled, abandoning her laptop on the couch. "Absolutely. I’m already halfway to sweatpants." She walked over and peered into the brown paper bag. "Tell me you found the right ricotta."

"Whole milk ricotta, fresh basil, and that expensive crushed tomato brand you like," Liam confirmed, unpacking the items with a flourish. "I figure if we're recreating the dinner from our first date, we have to do it right. Even if my kitchen skills haven't improved much since then."

"You're a great sous-chef," Maya teased, bumping her hip against his as she pulled a heavy wooden cutting board from the counter. "You chop the garlic, I’ll get the pasta water boiling. Then we need to negotiate the movie."

"I picked last year," Liam reminded her, grabbing his favorite chef's knife and a bulb of garlic. "Though I’m pretty sure we both fell asleep before the second act."

"Tonight will be different," Maya said. She filled a heavy pot at the sink, the rush of water mixing with the rhythmic sound of the rain outside. She set it on the stove and clicked on the gas burner before reaching into the cabinet for two wine glasses. "We'll watch a thriller. Something to keep us awake."

Liam chuckled, expertly crushing a garlic clove beneath the flat of his blade. "Perfect."

As the sharp, earthy scent of garlic filled their small kitchen, Maya poured the Cabernet. It wasn't a grand, cinematic celebration, but as they clinked their glasses together over the cutting board, it felt exactly right.


Rain lashed against the living room windows of their Chicago apartment, but the small kitchen was perfectly warm. Maya chopped a final clove of garlic, the rhythmic *thwack* of the chef's knife blending with the low jazz playing from the smart speaker.

"Four years," she said, scraping the garlic into a small ceramic bowl. "Can you believe we actually considered going to that crowded downtown steakhouse tonight?"

Julian laughed from the stove, where he was carefully searing scallops. "I'm much happier in my sweatpants, to be honest. Plus, the chef here is phenomenal." He flipped a scallop with a pair of silver tongs, watching it turn a perfect, crispy golden-brown. "Hand me the butter?"

Maya passed him the butter dish, then turned to the counter to uncork the bottle of Oregon Pinot Noir they’d been saving for a special occasion. "I'm so glad we decided to stay in. Our first date was in a downpour just like this. Remember?"

"How could I forget?" Julian said, deglazing the pan with a splash of white wine. Steam billowed upward, filling the apartment with a rich, savory aroma. "You stole my umbrella at the coffee shop."

"Borrowed," Maya corrected playfully, pouring two glasses of the ruby-red wine. "And it worked out, didn't it? We share a lease now. I'd say it was a very strategic theft."

Julian plated the scallops over a bed of lemon risotto they had tag-teamed earlier in the evening. He took the glasses from the counter, handing one to Maya.

"To four years of strategic theft," Julian smiled, his eyes catching the warm amber light of the stove hood.

"And to many more quiet nights in," Maya replied.

They clinked their glasses, the soft chime settling perfectly into the peaceful, rainy anniversary they had built for themselves.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, blurring the streetlights into smeared streaks of yellow and red. Maya leaned against the kitchen island, scrolling through a list of upscale downtown restaurants on her phone.

"We could try that new Italian place on State Street," she called out, though her voice lacked conviction. "They actually have an eight o'clock reservation."

Liam emerged from the bedroom, pulling a faded gray sweater over his head. He walked over, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder to look at the screen. "Four years," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Happy anniversary. But honestly? The thought of navigating the L train in this downpour makes me want to sleep for a week."

Maya let out a breath of relief, instantly locking her screen. "Thank god. I really didn't want to put on heels anyway."

"Let’s just stay in," Liam suggested, stepping back to open the refrigerator. "I can make that brown butter sage gnocchi. We still have half a block of good parmesan left."

"Only if I get to pick the movie," Maya countered, already turning toward the wine rack. She pulled out the heavy bottle of Cabernet they had bought in Napa last summer, specifically saved for a milestone.

"Deal," Liam said. He pulled a cast-iron skillet from the overhead rack, the heavy metal clinking sharply in the quiet kitchen. "Grab the corkscrew?"

As Liam began crushing cloves of garlic, the rhythmic sound filling the small space, Maya expertly opened the wine and poured two glasses. She handed him one, their fingers brushing. It wasn't the extravagant night out they had vaguely brainstormed weeks ago, but as the rich scent of melting butter filled the room, they both knew it was exactly what they wanted.


Rain lashed against the windows of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Maya pulled the cast-iron skillet from the oven, carefully setting the herb-crusted chicken on the stovetop to rest.

"I grabbed the Pinot Noir we liked from that vineyard in Oregon," Julian said, shouldering his way through the apartment door. He shook off his wet raincoat and set a dripping canvas grocery bag on the counter. Reaching inside, he pulled out the bottle and a small, damp bundle of white tulips.

"Tulips? In November?" Maya asked, smiling as she took the flowers. She handed him the corkscrew in exchange.

"I had to bribe a florist," Julian joked, deftly peeling the foil from the wine neck. "Happy four years, by the way."

"Four years since you spilled iced coffee on my notebook at the library," Maya corrected, pulling two tall wine glasses from the overhead cabinet. She found a glass vase beneath the sink, turned on the tap, and began trimming the flower stems.

"I prefer to call it the day I boldly initiated a conversation," Julian said. He poured the wine, handing her a glass before raising his own. "To us. No fancy downtown restaurants, no overpriced tasting menus. Just a quiet night in, good food, and a movie we'll probably fall asleep halfway through."

Maya clinked her glass against his, taking a sip. The wine was perfect—earthy and rich. "I'll start plating the dinner. You cue up the movie."

Julian pressed a quick kiss to her temple before grabbing their plates to set the small dining table in the living room. As she watched him arrange the silverware, Maya felt a deep, quiet contentment. They didn't need a ring or a grand party to prove anything; this shared life they were building together was exactly where they were meant to be.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their third-floor Chicago apartment, effectively making the decision for them.

"So, the fancy Italian place downtown is definitely out," Maya said, leaning over the back of the sofa where Liam was scrolling through his phone. "I am not ruining my suede boots for our fourth anniversary."

"Thank God," Liam sighed in relief, locking his screen and tossing the phone onto the coffee table. "I really didn't want to put on a tie anyway. Are you sure you're okay with staying in?"

Maya walked around the sofa and dropped onto the cushions beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Honestly? A quiet night here sounds perfect. But only if we make it a little special. No eating out of cardboard takeout boxes."

"Deal," Liam said, standing up and offering her his hand. "Let’s make those homemade pizzas we tried last month. The dough has been resting in the fridge since yesterday. I’ll stretch the crust, you handle the toppings?"

"I'm on it," Maya smiled, letting him pull her to her feet.

In the narrow kitchen, they fell into an easy, familiar rhythm. Liam dusted the granite counter with flour, working the chilled dough into two imperfect circles. Beside him, Maya chopped fresh basil, sliced a ball of mozzarella, and poured two glasses of the Cabernet they had bought on their trip to Napa last summer.

"To four years," Liam said, raising his flour-dusted glass by the stem.

Maya clinked her glass against his. "To four years. And to staying dry."

As the pizzas baked, filling the apartment with the warm scent of melting cheese and garlic, Maya lit a pair of tapered candles on the dining table while Liam queued up a movie. It wasn't the lavish celebration they had originally sketched out, but as they sat down together in the flickering light, it was exactly what they wanted.


Rain lashed against the windows of their third-floor apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled heavily of garlic and butter. It was their four-year anniversary, and instead of braving the evening traffic for a crowded, overpriced restaurant, Maya and Leo had unanimously opted for sweatpants and a homemade dinner.

"How’s the risotto looking?" Maya asked, scraping freshly chopped asparagus from the cutting board into a ceramic bowl.

Leo leaned over the stove, carefully stirring the steaming pot with a wooden spoon. "Almost there. It needs another splash of broth. And maybe more parmesan, if we’re being entirely honest with ourselves."

"We’re always honest about cheese," Maya laughed, bumping her hip affectionately against his as she reached for the refrigerator handle. She pulled out a wedge of Parmigiano-Reggiano and handed it to him.

Leo grated the cheese over the pot, the steam carrying the rich, nutty aroma through their small living space. "Did you pick a movie yet?" he asked, turning the burner down to a gentle simmer.

"I queued up that indie thriller you mentioned last week," Maya said. She grabbed two wine glasses from the open shelving, while Leo uncorked a moderately priced Cabernet they’d been saving for the occasion.

He poured the wine, handing her a glass. Their fingers brushed, familiar and warm. "Happy four years, Maya."

"Happy four years," she smiled, clinking her rim against his.

They didn't need a grand gesture or a diamond ring to validate the life they had built together. As Leo plated the creamy risotto and Maya carried the heavy ceramic bowls to the coffee table, they settled comfortably onto their worn velvet sofa. The rain continued to patter against the glass, but as the opening credits began to roll, neither of them could imagine being anywhere else.


Rain lashed against the windows of their third-floor Brooklyn apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Maya pulled the baking sheet from the oven, inspecting the herb-crusted salmon with a critical eye.

"Looks perfect," Julian said, stepping into the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Happy five years, by the way."

"Happy five years," Maya smiled, leaning back into him before gently nudging him away. "Now make yourself useful. The wine isn't going to pour itself, and you promised to curate the playlist."

"I'm on it," Julian said, snapping a crisp salute. He grabbed the bottle of Pinot Noir they’d been saving since their trip to Oregon last fall and expertly worked the corkscrew. "I'm thinking low-key jazz? Maybe some Coltrane to start?"

"Coltrane is exactly what this night calls for," she agreed, transferring the salmon and roasted asparagus to their good ceramic plates.

When they first moved in together three years ago, their anniversaries had involved crowded downtown restaurants, expensive tasting menus, and shouting over the din of other diners. Tonight, by mutual and enthusiastic agreement, they had opted for bare feet, a home-cooked meal, and the old leather sofa they’d found at a local flea market.

Julian carried the wine glasses to the coffee table, where he had already lit two beeswax candles. He dimmed the overhead lights just as the smooth, melancholic notes of a saxophone filled the small living room.

Maya brought the plates over, settling onto the cushions beside him and pulling a knitted blanket over her lap. Julian handed her a glass, clinking it gently against his own.

"To us," he said softly, watching the candlelight reflect in her eyes.

"To us," Maya echoed, taking a sip. "And to not wearing hard pants on our anniversary."


Maya chopped the bell peppers, sliding the red and yellow strips into a glass bowl. Across the kitchen island, Liam uncorked a moderately priced Cabernet, the satisfying *pop* echoing pleasantly in their small Seattle apartment.

"Happy four years," Liam said, pouring the dark wine into two stemless glasses. He slid one across the granite counter to her.

Maya wiped her hands on a dish towel and took a grateful sip. "Happy four years. I cannot tell you how glad I am that we canceled the reservation at The Waverly."

"Me too. A Tuesday night tasting menu sounded completely exhausting by about three o'clock today," Liam laughed. He opened the fridge to retrieve the marinated flank steak he had prepared before his morning commute. "Fajitas and the couch just feel right."

They moved around the small space in an easy, choreographed rhythm born of two years of living together. Maya seasoned the vegetables with cumin and chili powder while Liam heated the heavy cast-iron skillet. The sudden sizzle of the meat quickly filled the kitchen with a rich, smoky aroma.

"What's the entertainment for tonight?" Maya asked, nudging him affectionately with her hip as she reached for a pair of tongs. "Are we finally finishing that true crime documentary, or is it a board game night?"

Liam paused, spatula in hand. "Let's do Scrabble. But I get to keep the scorepad this time. You were very creative with your math last week."

"Hey, 'qi' on a triple word score is entirely valid," she defended with a grin, taking over the skillet so Liam could warm the flour tortillas.

As the evening rain began to patter against their living room window, insulating them from the rush hour traffic on the street below, they plated their dinner. It wasn’t a grand, cinematic romance, but as Liam clinked his glass against Maya's over the steaming food, they both knew it was exactly what they wanted.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of garlic and roasting tomatoes. Maya nudged Leo out of the way with her hip to reach the cutting board.

"Watch the sauce, chef," she teased, deftly chopping a handful of fresh basil. "If you burn it on our four-year anniversary, we’re ordering pizza."

Leo laughed, lowering the heat on the front burner before wrapping an arm around her waist. He pressed a quick kiss to her temple. "Have a little faith. I bought the good Parmesan and everything."

They had debated going out to a downtown steakhouse to celebrate, but a quiet Tuesday night at home felt infinitely more like *them*. They had shared this apartment for two years, building a life out of mismatched furniture, shared grocery lists, and quiet evenings just like this one.

Leo moved to the living room to queue up a jazz playlist, the soft notes of a saxophone soon filling the small space. He opened a bottle of Chianti they had been saving since Christmas, pouring two generous glasses. He handed one to Maya as she scraped the basil into the simmering pot.

"To four years," Leo said, clinking his glass against hers.

"To four years," Maya echoed, taking a sip. "And to not spending two hundred dollars to eat in a crowded restaurant."

Leo grinned. "Amen to that."

He grabbed two ceramic bowls from the open shelving, carrying them over to the small wooden dining table they had sanded and restored together last summer. He lit a single candle in the center while Maya drained the pasta. Outside, the city rush hour raged on, a chaotic blur of headlights and sirens. But inside, anchored by the comforting routine they had built together, the rest of the world simply faded away.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, effectively making the evening's decision for them.

Maya leaned over the kitchen island, scrolling past a list of heavily booked downtown restaurants on her phone. "You know, the idea of putting on heels tonight is actively making me sad," she said, looking up to catch Liam’s eye.

Liam laughed, shutting the refrigerator door with a nudge of his hip. He set a bottle of Pinot Noir and two mismatched glasses on the marble counter. "I was secretly hoping you'd say that. Happy four years, by the way."

"Happy four years," Maya smiled, stepping around the island to accept the glass he poured. "So, if we're abandoning the dinner reservations, what’s the backup plan? Because I am definitely not cooking."

"Deal. How about we order from that Thai place we went to the night we first signed the lease? Drunken noodles for you, Panang curry for me."

"Perfect," Maya said, her thumb already tapping over to a delivery app. "And entertainment? We could finally finish that nature documentary, or I could absolutely destroy you at Scrabble again."

Liam grabbed a cork coaster, sliding it under her wine glass. "I think you mean *attempt* to destroy me. I’m ready for a rematch. But first, let me get the living room set up."

He walked over to the television console, queuing up an acoustic playlist before tossing a couple of throw pillows onto the floor rug. Maya watched him, feeling a deep, quiet contentment. They didn't need a candlelit dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant to prove their commitment. A rainy Tuesday night, a heated board game rivalry, and the quiet comfort of the life they had built together were exactly what they needed.


Julian wiped down the granite counter while Maya rummaged through the lower cabinets, the clinking of glass cutting through the soft jazz playing from their smart speaker.

"Did we drink that Pinot Noir we bought in Oregon?" she asked, her voice muffled by the cabinet door.

"I think we finished it last Thanksgiving," Julian said. He grabbed a bunch of asparagus from the fridge and brought it to the cutting board. "But there's a Cabernet on the top rack that should go perfectly with the steaks."

Maya emerged, hair slightly tousled, holding the dark bottle triumphantly. "Perfect."

It was their fourth anniversary, a rainy Tuesday evening in late October. During their first year together, they had celebrated with an expensive downtown Chicago tasting menu that had left them with a massive credit card bill and a lingering hunger. Now, comfortably sharing a two-bedroom apartment and the shared expenses of daily life, they both preferred the sanctuary of their own kitchen.

Julian fired up the cast-iron skillet, the hiss of melting butter filling the room, while Maya set the small dining table. She didn't bother with a fancy tablecloth, just their everyday woven placemats, but she did light the tall beeswax tapers she’d bought over the weekend.

"I picked up the garlic bread you like from the bakery on 4th," Maya said, slicing the heavy loaf and sliding it onto a baking sheet. "The one with the roasted cloves baked right into the crust."

"You're the absolute best," Julian smiled, using tongs to lay the steaks into the pan. "Honestly, this beats the reservation we almost made at La Scala."

"By a mile," Maya agreed. She popped the cork, poured the wine, and handed him a glass over the sizzling stove. They tapped the rims together, the simple, quiet rhythm of their shared life feeling like exactly the right thing to celebrate.


Rain lashed against the windows of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Maya leaned over the counter, carefully trimming the ends off a bundle of fresh asparagus. Tonight marked exactly four years since she and Leo had met for a blind date at a cramped downtown cafe. Neither of them had wanted a big, expensive dinner out to celebrate.

The front door clicked open, accompanied by a gust of damp air. Leo backed into the entryway, shaking out his wet umbrella before toeing off his boots.

"I have successfully braved the storm," Leo announced, walking into the kitchen holding a dripping paper bag. He set it on the island and pulled out a bottle of Pinot Noir and a small carton of heavy cream. "The wine guy said this pairs perfectly with mushroom risotto."

"You're a lifesaver," Maya said, abandoning the asparagus to wrap her arms around his waist, pressing a kiss to his cold cheek. "I was worried you'd get washed away before you could stir the rice."

"And leave you to do all the work on our anniversary? Never." Leo smiled, reaching for the corkscrew in the top drawer. "You chop the mushrooms, I'll start the broth?"

"Deal." Maya grabbed her favorite chef's knife. "I rented that indie thriller we missed in theaters, by the way. Figured we could eat on the couch in our sweatpants once the cooking is done."

"Perfect," Leo said, popping the cork with a soft *thwack*. He poured two glasses, sliding one across the granite counter to her.

They clinked their glasses together, the crystal ringing lightly over the sound of the rain. It wasn't the flashy romance of the movies, but as Maya watched Leo tie an apron over his button-down work shirt, she knew there was nowhere else she’d rather be.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Brooklyn apartment, but inside, the space was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Maya stood at the kitchen island, meticulously peeling the skins off a batch of Roma tomatoes. Across the counter, Liam was wrestling with a stubborn cork in a bottle of Chianti, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Remind me why we thought celebrating on a Tuesday night was a good idea?" Liam asked, finally teasing the cork free with a soft *pop*.

Maya laughed, tossing a tomato peel into the compost bin. "Because four years ago, we officially started dating on a Tuesday. And because putting on hard pants to pay eighty dollars for a mediocre steak at a crowded restaurant sounded exhausting."

"Fair point." Liam poured the dark wine into two oversized glasses, sliding one across the granite to her. "Happy four years, by the way."

"Happy four years," she smiled, clinking her glass against his. "Now, are you going to help me with this pasta, or just stand there looking pretty?"

"I can do both," Liam said, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. He moved to the stove, grabbing a wooden spoon to stir the sizzling onions. "What's the movie lineup after dinner? We agreed on a quiet night, which means I get veto power over any intense true-crime documentaries."

"I was thinking that terrible 90s rom-com we watched on our first road trip to Maine," Maya suggested. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and joined him at the stove, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"Perfect," Liam said, turning down the heat on the burner and wrapping a free arm around her waist. "Good food, bad movies, and absolutely nowhere else to be."


Rain lashed against the windows of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Maya bumped her hip against Liam’s as she reached past him for the wooden cutting board.

"Watch the knife, chef," Liam warned with an easy laugh, scraping a pile of diced onions into the sizzling cast-iron skillet.

"I've got it," Maya said, expertly slicing a crusty baguette. "Can you believe it’s been four years? I feel like we were just freezing on that awful ice-skating date yesterday."

Liam smiled, adjusting the heat on the stove. "I still can't feel my toes from that night. This is much better."

They had agreed a week ago to skip the crowded, expensive downtown restaurants for their anniversary. Between their demanding corporate jobs and the joint savings account they were aggressively building for a down payment on a house, a quiet Friday night in felt more like a luxury than a compromise.

Maya carried the bread to the small dining table, which she had already set with their good plates and a pair of mismatched wine glasses. She poured the Cabernet they had picked out at Trader Joe's earlier that week. "Dinner’s almost ready. Have you decided on the movie, or are we going to spend an hour scrolling through Netflix again?"

"I already queued up a murder mystery," Liam said, plating the creamy mushroom pasta. He handed her a steaming bowl, the steam catching the warm amber light of the kitchen. "No endless scrolling tonight. Just carbs, a puzzle to solve, and you."

Maya took the bowl, leaning up to kiss his cheek. The hum of the refrigerator and the rain on the glass formed a comforting soundtrack to their shared life. "Perfect," she said. "Happy four years, Liam."

"Happy anniversary, Maya," he replied, gently clinking his glass against hers.


Maya leaned against the kitchen island, tapping her pen against a well-worn notepad. "So, Thursday is four years," she said, looking up as Elias dumped a handful of chopped onions into the sizzling skillet.

"Four years," Elias echoed, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He walked over and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Did you want to brave the crowds downtown? I can try to get a reservation at that new Italian place."

Maya wrinkled her nose, leaning back into his embrace. "Honestly? A crowded restaurant sounds exhausting after the week we've both had at work. I kind of just want it to be us."

"Music to my ears," Elias smiled, pressing a quick kiss to her temple before stepping back to stir the onions. "What if we recreate the first date? Or at least the best parts of it."

"You mean Thai takeout and terrible sci-fi movies?" Maya laughed, her posture relaxing. "I'm completely in. But only if we get the Pad Kee Mao from Siam Palace. None of the delivery apps, we have to actually go pick it up."

"Deal. I'll swing by the wine shop on my way home from the office," Elias offered, turning the stove down to a simmer. "Actually, wait. We still have that bottle of Pinot we bought in Oregon last summer. Seems like the right occasion to finally open it."

"Spicy noodles and the good Pinot," Maya mused, writing it down on her notepad with a satisfied flourish. "It's a weird pairing, but I love it."

"We're a weird pairing," Elias teased, walking back over to offer her a tasting spoon of the dinner he was making.

Maya tasted it and smiled. "Maybe. But it works perfectly."


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled heavily of roasting garlic. Maya elbowed Sam gently out of the way to reach her favorite wooden spoon.

"Watch it, I'm dealing with boiling water here," Sam warned with a laugh, tossing a handful of fettuccine into the steaming pot.

"You're the one taking up the whole counter," Maya countered, stirring the simmering Alfredo sauce until it perfectly coated the back of the spoon. "Can you believe it’s been exactly five years since that terrible blind date?"

"Hey, the date wasn't terrible. The bar was just too loud. I spilled my beer, you laughed at me, and the rest is history." Sam turned down the burner and leaned against the fridge. "Are you absolutely sure you don't mind staying in tonight? We could still try to grab a last-minute table at that upscale Italian place downtown."

Maya shook her head, finally turning off the heat under the skillet. "Honestly? I’d much rather be here in my favorite sweatpants. Plus, your pasta is better than anything we'd pay forty dollars a plate for."

"Flattery will get you extra parmesan," Sam said, reaching into the fridge for the cheese block and a grater.

They worked in an easy, practiced rhythm—a domestic dance honed over three years of sharing a lease. While Maya plated the steaming noodles and sauce, Sam poured two generous glasses of the moderately priced Pinot Noir they’d picked up from the corner store that afternoon.

"So, what's the entertainment tonight?" Maya asked, carrying the heavy plates to the coffee table in the living room. "The new nature documentary or that terrible B-horror movie?"

"Documentary," Sam decided, following her with the wine. He handed her a glass and gently tapped his against hers. "Happy anniversary, Maya."

"Happy


Maya leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping her morning coffee while staring at the magnetic calendar on the fridge. A red circle marked today’s date. Four years.

"Happy anniversary, by the way," Sam said, bumping his hip playfully against hers as he reached past to grab a mug from the cabinet.

"Happy anniversary," she smiled, leaning into his warmth. "So, what’s the plan? We never actually made a reservation at that French place downtown."

Sam poured his coffee, groaning softly at the thought of navigating Friday night traffic. "Honestly? The idea of shouting over a crowded dining room sounds exhausting right now. Are you dead set on going out?"

Maya shook her head, a wave of relief washing over her. "Not at all. I was actually hoping you’d say that. I'm craving comfort."

"Okay, deal," Sam said, pulling his phone from his pocket. "How about I swing by the good butcher on my way home? I can pick up a couple of ribeyes. We'll do steak, those roasted garlic potatoes you make, and open that bottle of Cabernet we bought in Napa."

"Perfect," Maya agreed, already mentally mapping out her afternoon. "I'll grab a fresh baguette from the bakery near my office. Oh, and dessert. Maybe those dark chocolate tarts from the corner place?"

"You read my mind." Sam set his mug down and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Dinner, sweatpants, and finally finishing that true-crime documentary?"

"It’s a date," she said, kissing him softly.

They lingered for a moment in the quiet kitchen, the hum of the refrigerator the only sound. It wasn't the flashy celebration some of their friends preferred, but for the two of them, a quiet night in their shared home was exactly what four years of love looked like.


Rain tapped gently against the windows of Maya and Leo’s third-floor apartment in Seattle, casting a blurred, gray filter over the Friday evening commute below. Inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled faintly of the garlic they had roasted the night before.

"So, five years," Leo said, leaning against the counter as he dried a wine glass with a dish towel. He looked over at Maya, who was scrolling through a restaurant reservation app on her phone. "Are we absolutely sure we don't want to brave that new Italian place downtown?"

Maya looked up, a tired but happy smile playing on her lips. "I am absolutely sure. I spent forty-five minutes in gridlock on I-5 today, and the thought of putting on heels sounds like a punishment." She locked her phone and set it face down on the kitchen island. "Besides, I thought we agreed on a quiet night."

"Quiet night it is," Leo agreed, hanging the towel on the oven handle. "But we still need to do it right. How about I make that mushroom risotto you love, and we finally open the bottle of Cabernet we brought back from Napa?"

Maya’s eyes lit up. "Deal. If you cook, I’ll handle the ambiance. I bought those overpriced beeswax candles yesterday, and I can queue up that French movie we've been meaning to watch."

"The one with the heavy subtitles?" Leo teased, walking over to pull a heavy saucepan from the bottom cabinet.

"Hey, it won awards," Maya laughed. She opened the refrigerator, pulling out a carton of cremini mushrooms and a bundle of fresh thyme, and handed them to him. "But if it gets too pretentious, we can always switch to baking shows."

Leo took the vegetables, his fingers lingering against hers. "Sounds like a perfect anniversary."


Rain lashed against the living room window of their third-floor Chicago apartment, perfectly justifying their decision to stay indoors. Maya leaned against the kitchen island, meticulously chopping bell peppers for their fajitas, while Liam wrestled with the cork of a mid-range Cabernet.

"Four years," Liam said, finally extracting the cork with a soft pop. He poured two generous glasses and handed one over the granite counter. "Who would have thought that a profoundly awkward blind date at a suburban bowling alley would lead to us living together and arguing over whose turn it is to buy paper towels?"

Maya laughed, sliding the sliced peppers into a sizzling cast-iron skillet. "It’s your turn, by the way. And for the record, the date wasn't terrible. Your bowling was."

"Fair point." Liam took a sip of wine and picked up a wooden spoon to stir the simmering black beans on the back burner. "So, what's the official itinerary for tonight? I've already secured the good fleece blanket for the couch."

"I was thinking we eat, completely ignore the dishes until tomorrow morning, and finally watch that documentary you've been talking about," Maya suggested, turning the stove down to a low simmer.

"Are you sure? It's our anniversary. We don't have to watch a two-hour deep dive on Roman architecture just because I'm a nerd."

"I like your nerdiness," Maya said, pulling two ceramic plates from the open cabinet. "Besides, you sat through my reality TV marathon last weekend. It’s called compromise. Or maybe just love."

Liam smiled, taking the plates from her hands to start dishing out the food. "Happy anniversary, Maya."

"Happy anniversary, Liam," she replied, clinking her glass against his. It wasn't a grand, cinematic celebration, but as the kitchen filled with the warm smell of spices, it was exactly where they both wanted to be.


Mark closed the refrigerator door with a sigh, holding up a half-empty jar of marinara sauce. "I think we need to make a Trader Joe's run before Tuesday."

Sarah looked up from her laptop at the kitchen island, adjusting her glasses. "Tuesday. Right. Four years since that terrible blind date."

"It wasn't terrible," Mark laughed, walking over to join her. "I spilled ice water on your lap, but we still closed down the bar. Speaking of which, should I try to get a reservation somewhere? Maybe that new Italian place downtown?"

Sarah wrinkled her nose. "Honestly? Dealing with downtown parking and overpriced appetizers on a Tuesday night sounds exhausting. What if we just stay here?"

"A quiet night in?" Mark smiled, his shoulders dropping in relief. "I'm fully on board with that. But we can't just eat leftover takeout for our anniversary."

"Agreed. Let’s make it special," Sarah said, pushing her laptop aside. "How about you make that brown butter sage ravioli you did for Valentine's Day? I’ll leave the office a little early, swing by the wine shop on 4th Street, and get a really good bottle of Barolo."

"Deal," Mark said, already mentally checking their pantry inventory. "And after dinner?"

"I'll curate a double feature," Sarah offered, leaning against his arm. "One movie you love, one I love. No phones, no work emails."

Mark kissed the top of her head. "Carbs, good wine, and our own couch. Sounds like the perfect anniversary."

Sarah smiled, watching the evening light filter through the blinds of their shared apartment. After four years together, she realized the grand gestures didn't matter nearly as much as the simple, comfortable rhythm they had built together.


Rain lashed against the tall windows of their Chicago apartment, effectively settling the debate.

Maya leaned over the granite kitchen island, crossing out "Rooftop drinks" on her yellow legal pad. "Well, that makes the decision easier. Three years together, and I think the universe is explicitly telling us to stay in sweatpants tonight."

Leo closed the refrigerator door, a slight frown on his face as he surveyed a half-empty carton of eggs and some wilted celery. "Fine by me. The thought of shouting over the loud indie-pop playlist at that new bistro downtown was already giving me a headache. But we can't just eat scrambled eggs for our anniversary."

"Agreed." Maya tapped her pen against her chin, her eyes scanning their spice rack. "You still remember how to make that wild mushroom risotto from the cooking class we took last winter?"

"Only if you handle the prep work," Leo said, tossing her a yellow onion. She caught it deftly, laughing. "I'll brave the storm to hit the grocery store down the street. We need arborio rice, parmesan, and a decent bottle of wine. Pinot noir?"

"Perfect. And grab a box of those dark chocolate truffles while you're there," Maya added, sliding off her barstool. She walked over and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her chin on his chest. "When you get back, we can cue up that terrible sci-fi movie we watched on our first date."

"I'll have you know *Galaxy Defender* is a cinematic masterpiece," Leo murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He pulled his heavy raincoat from the hook by the front door. "So, the official plan: risotto, red wine, bad aliens, and us."

"Exactly." Maya smiled, already turning toward the top cabinets to dust off their good wine glasses. "Hurry back.


Rain lashed against the windows of their third-floor Chicago apartment, effectively making the decision for them. There would be no fancy downtown dinner reservations tonight.

"I'm honestly relieved," Leo said, leaning against the kitchen island. He tossed a clove of garlic between his hands. "Four years is a big deal, but putting on a suit tonight felt like a chore."

Maya laughed, sliding a corkscrew into a bottle of Cabernet they’d been saving since their road trip to Sonoma. "Agreed. Besides, nothing says romance like sweatpants and my famous mushroom risotto." She popped the cork with a satisfying *thwack* and poured two glasses, sliding one across the granite counter to him.

They fell into their familiar, comfortable rhythm. Leo took over the prep work, dicing onions with a practiced precision he’d picked up from watching culinary videos during their first year of living together. Maya manned the stove, stirring the arborio rice and slowly ladling in the warm broth.

"Should we queue up a movie?" Leo asked, scraping the onions from his cutting board into Maya's waiting skillet. The loud sizzle filled the small kitchen, smelling instantly of butter and domestic warmth.

"Only if it's terribly cheesy," Maya replied, bumping her hip affectionately against his. "I want one of those ridiculous nineties rom-coms where the plot makes absolutely no sense."

"Consider it done." Leo rinsed his chef's knife, dried his hands on a hanging dish towel, and wrapped his arms around Maya’s waist from behind as she stirred. He rested his chin on her shoulder, watching the steam rise. "Happy anniversary, Maya."

She tilted her head to press a quick kiss to his cheek, leaning back into his embrace. "Happy anniversary, Leo. Now let go, or you're going to make me burn dinner."


Rain lashed against the windows of their second-floor apartment, but the kitchen was warm, filled with the rich scent of roasting garlic and tomatoes. Maya bumped her hip playfully against Liam’s as she reached past him for a wooden spoon.

"Watch it, I'm working with sharp objects here," Liam teased, expertly dicing a yellow onion on the butcher block.

"You've been dicing that same onion for five minutes," Maya laughed, stirring the simmering pasta sauce. "At this rate, our four-year anniversary dinner will turn into a midnight snack."

"Perfection takes time." He scooped the onions into the skillet, the sizzle momentarily drowning out the low hum of the jazz playlist drifting from their smart speaker.

When they first moved in together two years ago, they had celebrated their relationship milestones with expensive reservations downtown. But tonight, a rainy weeknight in Seattle, the quiet comfort of their shared home felt exactly like where they wanted to be.

Maya lowered the heat on the stove and turned to open the refrigerator. "Did you chill the wine?"

"Top shelf," Liam said. He wiped down his cutting board, dried his hands on a dish towel, and moved to set the small dining table. He laid out the cloth napkins and grabbed the two mismatched wine glasses they’d bought at a thrift store during their first road trip down the Oregon coast.

Maya pulled the cork from the Pinot Noir and poured them each a generous splash, walking over to hand one to Liam. He paused, holding the glass up by the stem.

"Happy anniversary, Maya. Here’s to four years."

"Happy anniversary," she smiled, clinking her glass against his. They took a sip, perfectly content to let the storm rage outside while they celebrated the quiet, steady life they had built together.


The front door stuck a little, just as it had for the three years Maya and Julian had shared their Brooklyn apartment. Maya bumped it with her hip, balancing a heavy paper bag from Trader Joe’s in her arms.

Julian looked up from the kitchen island, where he was meticulously slicing a red bell pepper. He wiped his hands on a dish towel and hurried over to relieve her of the groceries.

"Happy anniversary," Maya said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "I got the good gouda. And I found the wine we had on our second date, mostly because they were totally out of the first-date one."

Julian laughed, unpacking the bag on the counter. "Five years," he said, shaking his head. "I think the second-date wine is actually better, anyway. I remember being terribly nervous on that first date and just ordering the cheapest Pinot on the menu."

"You were sweating," Maya agreed affectionately. She slipped off her work shoes and took over at the cutting board while Julian turned to ignite the gas stove.

They had explicitly agreed on a quiet night in. No crowded restaurants, no extravagant gifts, and no pressure—just homemade fajitas, a nostalgic bottle of red, and each other. The small apartment soon filled with the warm scent of sizzling onions and cumin as Julian expertly tossed the vegetables in their favorite cast-iron skillet. Maya set the small two-seater dining table, lighting a single beeswax candle she’d bought at the farmer’s market the weekend before.

When the food was ready, Julian brought the heavy skillet to the table, resting it on a cork trivet, while Maya poured the wine. They sat across from each other, the soft candlelight flickering over the familiar angles of Julian’s face.

He raised his glass, offering a warm smile. "To five years of not scaring each other away."

Maya clinked her glass against his. "And to staying exactly right here."


Rain lashed against the windows of their Seattle apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasted garlic. Liam stood at the stove, stirring a simmering pot of marinara sauce with a dish towel tossed over his shoulder. The front door clicked open, followed by the familiar rustle of a wet raincoat.

"I secured the goods," Maya announced, stepping into the kitchen with a damp paper bag. She pulled out a fresh sourdough baguette and a bottle of Chianti, her cheeks flushed from the November chill.

"Perfect timing," Liam said, turning down the heat. He leaned in to kiss her, tasting the cold rain on her skin. "Happy four years, by the way."

"Happy four years," she smiled, nudging him aside so she could reach the cutting board. "Now hand over the knife. You always slice the bread too thick."

Liam laughed, surrendering the bread knife and reaching for the wine glasses instead. When they had first started dating, anniversaries meant reservations at overpriced downtown restaurants and frantic scrambles to dress up after long shifts. But after two years of living together, a quiet Wednesday night in was exactly what they both wanted.

Maya expertly sliced the baguette, arranging the pieces on a wooden board before throwing together a quick vinaigrette for the salad. Working in tandem, moving around each other in a practiced choreography born of shared space, they plated the pasta and carried their dinner to the coffee table.

They sat cross-legged on the rug, the television purposely left off.

"To us," Liam said, raising his glass. "And to not spending two hundred dollars on scallops tonight."

Maya clinked her glass against his. "To us. And to you doing the dishes later."

Liam groaned good-naturedly, and Maya smiled, feeling entirely, perfectly at home.


Rain lashed against the windows of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Maya stood at the island, chopping fresh basil with practiced, rhythmic motions. Today marked exactly five years since their terrible first date at a loud, crowded downtown bar, and neither had any desire to brave a busy restaurant to celebrate.

"Are we doing the good wine, or the *really* good wine?" Liam called from the living room. He was currently untangling a string of fairy lights they usually kept stuffed in a hall closet, determinedly draping them over the bookshelf to make the room feel festive rather than just their everyday lounge.

"The really good one," Maya said, scraping the basil into a simmering pot of marinara. "The Pinot from our Napa trip. It’s our half-decade mark, after all."

Liam appeared in the kitchen doorway holding the bottle and two polished glasses, a proud smile on his face. "Lights are up. The couch is completely cleared of all laundry, and I queued up that French indie movie we've been meaning to watch for six months."

"You actually folded the laundry?" Maya teased, turning down the heat on the stove and wiping her hands on a dish towel.

"Don't sound so shocked. I even put it in the dressers." He stepped closer, handing her a glass of red wine before pressing a warm kiss to her temple. "Happy anniversary, Maya."

"Happy anniversary," she murmured, leaning into his shoulder. They didn't need a ring or an expensive reservation to make the day feel significant. Maya turned to pull the garlic bread from the oven while Liam walked over to set their small dining table, striking a match to light a thick beeswax candle in the center. The quiet intimacy of the apartment, shared and shaped by both of them, was exactly where they wanted to be.


The rain against the apartment window was a welcome excuse. Maya leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Liam expertly toss garlic and cherry tomatoes into a sizzling skillet.

"I'm going to officially cancel the dinner reservation," Maya said, unlocking her phone. "Are you absolutely sure you don't mind missing the tasting menu?"

Liam wiped his hands on a dish towel and stepped over to pour two glasses of Cabernet. "Honestly? After the week I’ve had at the firm, putting on a tie sounds like a punishment. Four years together means I get to celebrate with you in my sweatpants."

Maya laughed, tapping the screen to finalize the cancellation. "Sweatpants it is. Though I did buy the expensive parmesan for the occasion." She accepted the wine glass from him, her fingers brushing comfortably against his.

They moved in an easy rhythm born of three years of sharing their cramped Chicago apartment. While Liam lowered the heat on the sauce and dropped fresh linguine into boiling water, Maya cleared a pile of mail off the small dining table. She lit a single cedar-scented candle—a quiet nod to the occasion—and set out their everyday ceramic bowls alongside proper cloth napkins.

"You know," Liam said, stirring the pasta, "we sat in the pouring rain on our first date, too. That awful brewery patio with the broken umbrella."

"And you pretended you weren't shivering," Maya replied, leaning over his shoulder to steal a blistered tomato from the pan.

Liam plated the food, topping both bowls with a generous mound of Maya's grated cheese. They sat down together, the warm glow of the candle flickering between them. Maya raised her glass.

"Happy anniversary," she said softly.

"Happy anniversary," Liam replied, clinking his glass against hers. The apartment was quiet, smelling of garlic and rain, and exactly where both of them wanted to be.


Rain drummed against the windows of their second-floor apartment, a steady Seattle drizzle that made the living room feel like a warm, dimly lit cocoon. In the cramped galley kitchen, Maya chopped fresh basil, the sharp, peppery scent cutting through the rich aroma of simmering garlic and marinara sauce.

"


Rain lashed against the windows of their third-floor Brooklyn apartment, but inside, the kitchen was wrapped in the warm, savory aroma of roasting garlic and rosemary. Maya leaned over the butcher block, carefully scoring the skin of two duck breasts.

"Are we entirely sure four years doesn't warrant at least ordering the good Thai takeout?" she teased, glancing over her shoulder.

Liam chuckled, uncorking a bottle of Pinot Noir with a soft *pop*. "The Thai place doesn't let us control the playlist," he pointed out, pouring two generous glasses. He slid one across the granite island toward her before turning to the stove to stir the bubbling risotto. "Besides, you said you wanted a quiet night. Just us, no reservations, no shouting over crowded tables."

"I did," Maya agreed, wiping her hands on a dish towel and taking a sip of the wine. It was perfectly earthy. "And I meant it. Living together has officially made me a homebody."

She carried the cast-iron skillet to the stove, and Liam seamlessly stepped aside, trading places so he could begin trimming asparagus. They moved around the narrow kitchen with the practiced choreography of two people who had spent the last two years sharing every mundane and magical detail of their lives. There were no rings on their fingers, no legal documents binding them together, but the weight of their commitment was palpable in the easy rhythm of their shared routine.

Liam dropped the asparagus into a sizzling pan, then reached over to tap the screen of their smart speaker. A soft, familiar jazz melody filled the room, melting into the sound of the rain outside.

"Happy anniversary, Maya," he said, turning to wrap a flour-dusted arm around her waist.

"Happy anniversary," she smiled, leaning into him. "Now, don't burn the risotto."


Rain lashed against the windows of their third-floor apartment in Seattle, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled faintly of garlic. Sarah nudged the front door shut with her hip, balancing a soggy grocery bag in one arm and her laptop case in the other.

"I got the good Parmesan," she called out, shaking off her damp coat.

Mark emerged from the living room, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. He quickly crossed the room to relieve her of the heavy bag. "Perfect. I’ve already got the water boiling and the jazz playlist going." He leaned in, giving her a lingering kiss on the cheek. "Happy anniversary, babe."

"Happy anniversary," Sarah smiled, leaning into his warmth. Four years today. No rings, no wedding registry, just a shared lease, a thriving pothos plant, and a daily commitment that felt absolute.

They bumped hips in the narrow kitchen as they fell into their familiar rhythm. Sarah chopped the cherry tomatoes and fresh basil, her knife clicking softly against the wooden board, while Mark tended to the stovetop, coaxing a rich, buttery sear onto the scallops.

"Did you ever check to see if that Italian place downtown had reservations open?" Mark asked, handing her a glass of Pinot Noir.

"I looked yesterday," Sarah admitted, taking a sip. "But honestly, paying eighty dollars for a plate of pasta in a crowded room sounded exhausting. I’d much rather be here in my sweatpants with you."

"Agreed." Mark clinked his glass against hers. He plated the food, carefully arranging the scallops over a bed of linguine, and carried the steaming bowls to their small dining table.

Outside, the city hummed with Friday night traffic and rain, but as they sat down under the dim glow of the pendant light, the rest of the world simply faded away.


Rain lashed against the windows of their third-floor Brooklyn apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. It was their four-year anniversary, and after weeks of exhausting deadlines at their respective jobs, neither Maya nor Julian had any desire to brave a crowded restaurant.

"Are you sure you don't mind staying in?" Julian asked, leaning against the counter as he dried a wine glass. "I know we talked about that Italian place downtown."

Maya shook her head, pulling a ball of dough from the fridge. "Honestly, this is exactly what I want. Yoga pants, your homemade tomato sauce, and zero noise. Toss me the flour?"

Julian caught the bag of flour she nudged across the island and lightly dusted the cutting board. He began rolling out the dough while Maya chopped bell peppers, red onions, and fresh basil. They moved around each other with the easy choreography of two people who had shared a small kitchen for three years.

"We should pick a movie before we put the pizza in the oven," Julian suggested, pausing to brush a stray curl of brown hair from his forehead with the back of his flour-dusted wrist. "Otherwise, we’ll spend an hour scrolling through streaming services and the food will get cold."

"Good call," Maya agreed. She scraped the diced vegetables into a bowl and reached for the bottle of Chianti they had been saving on the top shelf. "I'll queue up that thriller we missed in theaters, you finish building the pizza. Deal?"

"Deal." Julian smiled, taking the corkscrew she handed him. He popped the cork with a soft *thwack* and poured two generous glasses. Handing one to Maya, he clinked the rim of his glass against hers. "Happy anniversary, Maya."

"Happy anniversary," she smiled, taking a sip. "Now, don't skimp on the mozzarella."


Rain lashed against the windows of their third-floor Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Maya leaned over the cutting board, expertly dicing tomatoes, while David rummaged through the lower cabinets in search of their good wine glasses.

"Can you believe it's been exactly five years since that terrible blind date?" David asked, finally emerging with two dust-free goblets.

Maya laughed, scraping the tomatoes into a sizzling skillet. "I almost walked out when you knocked your water glass all over the bread basket."

"And now, here we are. No fancy restaurant, no spilling water." David walked over to the speaker on the counter, scrolling through his phone to put on a soft jazz playlist. He uncorked the Pinot Noir they had bought specifically for tonight, pouring a generous measure into both glasses.

For their fifth anniversary, they had mutually agreed to skip the overpriced downtown reservations. Living together for the last two years had taught them that their favorite moments were often the quiet ones.

Maya wiped her hands on a dish towel and took the glass David offered. "The pasta needs about ten more minutes," she said. "Did you pick a movie?"

"I queued up that indie thriller you've been talking about," David replied, leaning against the counter. He clinked his glass against hers. "Happy anniversary, Maya. To five years, and to staying in sweatpants."

"The ultimate romance," she smiled, taking a sip of the red wine. She leaned up to kiss him, tasting the wine on his lips. The rain continued to beat against the glass outside, but their apartment was a perfect sanctuary. Maya turned back to stir the sauce, while David went to the living room to light a few candles, both of them perfectly content in the life they had built together.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Maya stood at the island, expertly slicing cherry tomatoes, while Liam wrestled with a corkscrew and a bottle of Pinot Noir.

"Four years," Liam said, finally freeing the cork with a soft pop. He poured two glasses and slid one across the granite counter to her. "If you told me on our first date that we’d be celebrating by making risotto in our sweatpants, I probably wouldn't have believed you."

Maya laughed, scraping the tomatoes into a hot skillet. They sizzled instantly. "On our first date, you spilled iced coffee on your own shoes. I didn't think you possessed the coordination to make risotto."

"Hey, I was nervous," Liam countered. He moved to the stove and took the wooden spoon from her hand, stirring the rice with a practiced rhythm. He leaned over to kiss her temple. "But I think we made the right call staying in. The restaurants downtown are a nightmare on Fridays."

"Absolutely," Maya agreed. She wiped down the counter and pulled two mismatched ceramic plates from the cabinet. They didn't need a grand, expensive dinner to prove anything. Sharing a lease for the past two years had taught them both that their best moments were usually the quietest.

While Liam finished grating fresh parmesan over the steaming pan, Maya walked over to their small dining table. She lit a single beeswax candle and dimmed the overhead lights.

Liam brought the plates over, setting them down gently. He pulled out her chair, a playful smirk on his face. "Dinner is served."

Maya sat down, raising her wine glass. "Happy anniversary, Liam. Here’s to many more quiet nights."

He smiled, raising his own. Their glasses clinked softly, the sound ringing through the comfortable warmth of their home.


Rain lashed against the window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen felt warm and grounded. Maya leaned against the quartz counter, absently peeling the damp label off a bottle of craft beer.

"So, Thursday is four years," she said, looking over at Liam. "Did we ever make a final decision?"

Liam paused over the cutting board, where he was precisely dicing onions for their Tuesday night chili. "I looked at reservations for that new French place downtown," he said, scraping the onions into a sizzling cast-iron pan. "But honestly? The thought of paying fifty dollars for parking and shouting over a crowded dining room sounds completely exhausting."

Maya smiled, her shoulders dropping in visible relief. "Thank God. I didn't want to be the one to say it. My team's software launch is Wednesday, and by Thursday night, I only want to exist in my gray sweatpants."

"Sweatpants anniversary it is," Liam agreed, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "But we should still make it a little special. What if we recreate our first date?"

Maya laughed, taking a sip of her beer. "Thai takeout and that terrible B-movie we fell asleep during?"

"Exactly," Liam said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I’ll pick up the Pad Kee Mao from Thai Village on my way home from the clinic. Extra spicy, just how you like it."

"And I’ll rent *Space Mutiny*," Maya added. She walked over to wrap her arms around his waist from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder as the onions caramelized. "I'll even get those obnoxious sour gummy worms from the bodega down the street."

"A perfect plan," Liam murmured, leaning back into her embrace. There were no grand, performative gestures required—just the quiet, steady comfort of the life they had built together.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the air was warm and smelled rich with garlic and roasting rosemary.

Liam stood at the stove, gently stirring a bubbling pot of mushroom risotto. "Are you sure you don't mind skipping a fancy dinner?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Maya laughed, uncorking a bottle of Cabernet at the kitchen island. "After the week I’ve had at the clinic? The idea of putting on heels and shouting over a crowded restaurant sounds like an absolute nightmare. This is exactly what I wanted." She poured two glasses, sliding one across the granite counter to him.

It was their four-year anniversary. While some of their friends were planning elaborate weddings or buying houses in the suburbs, Maya and Liam were perfectly content in their shared two-bedroom walk-up, prioritizing the quiet, steadfast comfort they’d built together.

"Good," Liam said, accepting the glass and pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. "Because I spent an hour finding the exact vintage of *The Thing* we watched on our first date."

"You found the 1982 version?" Maya’s eyes lit up. She grabbed a pair of cloth napkins and began folding them at the small dining table. "Impressive. I’ll make the popcorn later, but only if you promise not to talk through the ending this time."

"I make no promises," Liam teased, turning off the heat. He plated the risotto, carefully carrying the steaming bowls to the table while Maya struck a match and lit a pair of tapered candles.

She switched off the harsh overhead lights, bathing the room in a soft, flickering glow. As they sat down across from each other, Maya raised her glass. "Happy four years, Liam."

He smiled, clinking his glass against hers. "Happy four years. Here’s to staying in."


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, blurring the amber city lights into a watercolor smear. Inside, however, the air was warm and smelled heavily of roasting garlic. Maya adjusted the heat under the simmering marinara sauce, wiping a stray smudge of flour from her forehead. Five years together today.

"Okay, the garlic bread is officially in the oven," Julian announced, bumping the oven door shut with his hip. He walked over to the stove and wrapped his arms around Maya from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Smells incredible."

"It better," Maya laughed, leaning back into his chest. "I splurged on the good San Marzano tomatoes."

When they had first discussed their anniversary earlier in the week, they’d considered fighting for a reservation at a trendy new steakhouse downtown. But looking at their shared calendar, and already exhausted from long work weeks, they had unanimously opted for a quiet night in. They agreed on sweatpants, handmade pasta, and the expensive bottle of Chianti they’d been saving since a weekend trip to Napa last summer.

Julian stepped back and moved to the kitchen island, expertly uncorking the wine. He poured two generous glasses, the dark liquid catching the pendant lights, and slid one across the granite counter toward her. "To five years of you stealing all the blankets."

"And to five years of you leaving your socks under the coffee table," Maya countered, taking the glass and tapping it against his. The sharp clink rang clearly over the low jazz playing from the corner speaker.

Julian smiled, his playful sarcasm fading into something softer. He took a sip. "Honestly, though? Best five years of my life."

Maya felt a familiar warmth bloom in her chest, entirely separate from the wine. "Mine too. Now, grab the colander before we ruin our perfect night with mushy spaghetti."


Rain lashed against the windows of their third-floor Chicago apartment, effectively washing away any lingering guilt Maya felt about canceling their dinner reservations.

"I just texted the bistro," Maya said, tossing her phone onto the kitchen island. She pulled her hair from its stiff work bun and sighed, her shoulders dropping. "We are officially off the hook for putting on hard pants tonight."

Leo looked up from the cutting board, where he was slicing a fresh baguette, and smiled. "Happy four years to us. Honestly, an eighty-dollar steak sounded great yesterday, but right now, I'd rather have pad thai and the couch."

"Exactly." Maya slid onto a barstool. "Did you open the wine?"

"Breathing as we speak," Leo said. He wiped his hands on a dish towel and reached for the bottle of Cabernet they’d bought on their trip to Sonoma last summer, pouring two generous glasses. He slid one across the granite counter to her. "I'll order the food. Extra peanut sauce?"

"You know me so well." Maya took a sip, the rich wine instantly warming her. "I'll queue up the movie. Are we thinking a classic romance, or that terrible sci-fi sequel we've been putting off?"

"Sci-fi, absolutely," Leo said, pulling his phone from his pocket to open the delivery app. "Nothing says romance like terrible CGI aliens."

Maya laughed, walking over to press a quick kiss to his cheek. It wasn't the glamorous anniversary they had originally envisioned when they marked the calendar a month ago. But as Leo wrapped an arm around her waist, smelling of rain and the sandalwood soap they shared, Maya realized it was exactly what their lives together were really about: finding perfect comfort in the quiet, shared spaces.

"I'll get the blankets," she murmured.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm, smelling rich with garlic and roasting thyme. Maya nudged Liam out of the way with her hip to reach the wooden cutting board.

"You're hogging the counter again," she teased, effortlessly slicing a crusty loaf of sourdough.

Liam laughed, giving the cast-iron skillet a practiced flick to toss the sautéing mushrooms. "Hey, culinary perfection requires space. Besides, four years together means you're officially used to it."

It was their anniversary—exactly four years since a clumsy, caffeine-fueled first date at a crowded coffee shop. Earlier in the week, they had discussed trying to snag a reservation at a trendy new Italian place downtown. But after a grueling week at their respective jobs, the prospect of staying in, wearing sweatpants, and cooking together felt like the ultimate luxury.

Maya uncorked a bottle of Cabernet she had picked up on her way home, expertly pouring two generous glasses. She handed one to Liam, carefully navigating around the sputtering stove. "To four years," she said, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "And to not spending two hundred dollars on tiny, aesthetic plates of food."

"Amen to that," Liam said, clinking his glass against hers. He turned off the burner and began plating the mushroom risotto, distributing it evenly between two warmed bowls.

Maya carried the wine and bread to their small dining table, which she had dressed up with a single lit beeswax candle—a quiet nod to the occasion. Liam followed with the steaming bowls. He set them down and pulled out Maya’s chair for her, an exaggerated gesture of chivalry that made her smile.

Taking his seat opposite her, Liam raised his glass to the flickering candlelight. "Happy anniversary, Maya. Here's to us, our cramped kitchen, and nowhere else I'd rather be."


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Portland apartment, effectively washing away any lingering guilt Maya had about canceling their dinner reservations. She kicked off her damp boots and hung her coat, immediately greeted by the rich smell of roasting garlic.

Leo leaned around the kitchen archway, a wooden spoon in his hand. "Hey. You're home early. Happy five years, babe."

Maya crossed the room and kissed him, leaning into the warmth of his sweater. "Happy five years. I canceled the Italian place downtown. It's miserable out there, and honestly, I just want to put on sweatpants."

"Way ahead of you," Leo smiled, gesturing to his own faded gray joggers. "Since we aren't paying for overpriced risotto tonight, I’m making the penne alla vodka we had on our first date. Well, my version of it. The sauce is already simmering."

"You are an absolute lifesaver," Maya said, her shoulders dropping as the workday tension melted away. "How about I handle the entertainment and the drinks? We still have that bottle of Sangiovese we bought in Sonoma last summer."

"Perfect," Leo agreed, turning back to the stove to stir the bubbling red sauce. "Just see if you can find a movie that doesn't involve a true-crime documentary. It’s a celebration, not a murder investigation."

Maya laughed, heading toward the living room. "Deal. A comedy it is. Or maybe that terrible sci-fi movie we watched when we first moved in here." She pulled the wine from the rack and grabbed the corkscrew.

As she poured the deep red wine into two glasses, Maya listened to the familiar rhythm of Leo chopping fresh basil. They didn't need a fancy restaurant. Here, in the quiet, garlic-scented warmth of the home they had built together, everything was exactly right.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Maya dropped her damp tote bag on the entryway bench and shook out her umbrella.

"I got the good wine," she called out, holding up a paper bag. "And the overpriced truffle cheese you like."

Leo emerged from the hallway, drying his hands on a dish towel. He smiled, pulling her in for a quick kiss that tasted faintly of the marinara sauce he’d been simmering. "Happy three years, babe. Perfect timing. The pasta is almost ready."

They weren't married, and neither felt any rush to be. Living together for the past two years had been a quiet revelation of shared routines and comfortable silences. Instead of a crowded, expensive restaurant, they had mutually agreed on a low-key night in to celebrate the anniversary of their very first date.

Maya kicked off her boots and moved to the kitchen island, pulling two wine glasses from the cabinet. "Did you find the movie?"

"Cued up and ready on the TV," Leo said, turning back to the stove to stir the sauce. "Though I still don't understand why we're making it a tradition to watch the terrible horror flick we saw on night one."

"Because it’s ours," Maya laughed, expertly uncorking the Cabernet. She poured them each a generous glass and slid one across the granite counter to him.

Leo took a sip, leaning against the counter to look at her. The warm stove light cast a soft glow on her tired but happy face. "You know, this is exactly where I wanted to be tonight."

Maya clinked her glass against his, the crisp sound rising over the bubbling sauce and the rain outside. "Me too. Now, let's eat before the zombies get us."


Rain lashed against the windows of their Chicago apartment, solidifying Maya and Liam’s decision to cancel their downtown dinner reservations. Four years to the day since their first awkward coffee date, a quiet night in suddenly felt like the ultimate luxury.

Maya leaned against the kitchen island, unpacking the bags she’d grabbed from Trader Joe’s on her commute home. "I hope you’re ready for my infamous mushroom risotto," she said, tossing a bundle of fresh thyme onto the cutting board. "It’s not exactly the Michelin-starred tasting menu we had planned."

"Honestly, this is way better," Liam said. He bumped his shoulder gently against hers, reaching past her to grab two wine glasses from the open shelving. "I will take your cooking and sweatpants over a stiff collar any day of the week."

He uncorked a bottle of Pinot Noir they’d been saving since their road trip to Sonoma last summer, pouring a generous measure into each glass. Handing one to Maya, he raised his own. "Happy anniversary. Here's to four years of you stealing all the blankets."

"And four years of you leaving your socks on the coffee table," she countered with a warm smile, tapping her glass against his.

While Maya minced garlic and methodically stirred the simmering broth, Liam took charge of the ambiance. He dimmed the overhead pendant lights, sparked a cedarwood candle on the small dining table, and scrolled through their streaming queue to find the indie comedy they had missed in theaters last month.

The apartment soon filled with the rich, earthy scent of mushrooms and toasted garlic. As Liam pulled two bowls from the cabinet and Maya gave the risotto one final, satisfying stir, they shared a comfortable look. There was no grand romantic spectacle tonight, just the steady, quiet warmth of a life they had built together.


Maya leaned against the kitchen counter, chopping bell peppers with practiced efficiency. Outside their third-floor Chicago apartment, the November wind howled, rattling the living room windows.

"So," Julian said, gently bumping the refrigerator door shut with his hip. He carried a wedge of parmesan and a bunch of fresh basil over to the island. "Four years. Are we putting on real clothes and braving the cold, or are we officially an old, boring couple?"

Maya laughed, scraping the diced peppers into a cast-iron skillet. The hiss of hot oil immediately filled the small, warmly lit kitchen. "I strongly vote for old and boring. I spent all day in budget meetings, and the thought of putting on heels makes me want to cry."

"Thank god," Julian sighed in exaggerated relief. He reached past her, stealing a slice of raw pepper before getting to work grating the cheese. "In that case, I’ll open the good wine. The one your parents brought back from Napa."

"Oh, the Cabernet? Perfect." Maya lowered the heat on the stove, stirring the sizzling vegetables as the scent of garlic bloomed in the air. "What’s the entertainment for the evening? We could finally finish that true-crime documentary, or we could just watch sitcom reruns for the hundredth time."

Julian pulled the cork from the dark bottle with a soft pop, pouring two generous glasses. He handed one to Maya, their fingers brushing against the cool glass. "Let's compromise. A movie we haven't seen, but one that absolutely doesn't require too much brain power."

Maya took a sip of the wine, letting the warmth settle in her chest. She looked around their slightly cluttered, perfectly cozy apartment, then smiled up at Julian. "Pasta, wine, sweatpants, and a mediocre movie." She clinked her glass against his. "Happy anniversary. Best one yet."

Julian grinned, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Happy anniversary. I'll go queue up the mediocrity."


Leo balanced a heavy paper grocery bag on his hip as he unlocked the apartment door. He nudged it open with his shoulder, greeted instantly by the familiar scent of Maya’s lavender oil diffuser.

"I got the good pasta!" Leo called out, setting the bag onto the kitchen island.

Maya emerged from the hallway, shutting her work laptop with a satisfying click. She wore a faded college sweatshirt and a warm, tired smile. "You mean the fresh tortellini from the Italian market on Fifth, or the boxed stuff you usually try to pass off as gourmet?"

"The fresh tortellini," Leo laughed, pulling the plastic container from the bag. "Four years together demands at least a minor upgrade in our carbohydrate intake."

Maya walked over, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his chest. "Happy anniversary. I was looking at restaurant reservations downtown earlier, but honestly, everywhere looked so loud. And it's pouring out."

"I actually canceled the backup reservation at the bistro on my drive home," Leo admitted, kissing the top of her head. "I was really hoping you'd be up for staying in. I even tracked down a bottle of that Oregon Pinot Noir we drank on our first trip to Portland."

"Perfect," Maya said, stepping back to inspect the rest of the groceries. She pulled out a bunch of fresh basil and a carton of cherry tomatoes. "I'll make the blistered tomato sauce if you handle the garlic bread and pour the wine."

"Deal." Leo grabbed the corkscrew from the top drawer.

"And after," Maya added, turning on the faucet to wash the tomatoes, "we are finally watching that documentary you’ve been hoarding in the queue. No phones, no emails."

"Just us," Leo agreed, popping the cork. It wasn't a grand, cinematic celebration, but as the kitchen filled with the comforting sounds of their shared routine, it felt exactly right.


Rain tapped against the kitchen window of their Chicago apartment as Maya chopped garlic on the butcher block. Liam leaned against the counter beside her, swirling a splash of red wine in his glass.

"Four years," Liam said, clinking his glass gently against the ceramic bowl of fresh tomatoes. "I still say we could have made reservations at that Italian place downtown."

Maya scraped the garlic into a sizzling cast-iron skillet, the savory aroma immediately filling the small room. "And pay thirty dollars for a plate of pasta we can make better ourselves? No thanks. Besides, I specifically wanted to wear sweatpants tonight."

Liam laughed, looking down at his own faded gray joggers. "Fair point. So, what’s the official itinerary for our grand anniversary night in?"

"Well, I'm handling the arrabbiata sauce," Maya said, pointing her wooden spoon at him. "You are in charge of the garlic bread and picking the movie. And no documentaries about deep-sea creatures this time."

"Deal," Liam said. He set his wine down and opened the pantry, pulling out a loaf of crusty sourdough. He grabbed a serrated knife and began slicing the bread thick, moving in practiced synchronization with Maya in the narrow galley kitchen. "How about that mystery thriller you've been wanting to watch? The one with the crazy twist ending?"

"Perfect," she smiled, lowering the heat on the stove to let the sauce simmer.

As Liam slathered butter onto the thick slices of bread, he bumped his hip playfully against hers. There were no sweeping romantic gestures tonight, no expensive jewelry or crowded, noisy restaurants. There was just the comfortable rhythm they had built together, the warmth of their shared kitchen, and the quiet certainty that there was nowhere else either of them would rather be.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the air was warm and smelled of garlic and roasting thyme. Mark stood at the stove, expertly flipping salmon fillets in the cast-iron skillet, a damp dish towel slung over his shoulder.

"How’s it looking over there, Chef?" Elena called from the living room. She was on her knees in front of the TV console, shuffling through a stack of old DVDs they’d rescued from her parents' basement.

"Five minutes until plating," Mark said, turning down the burner. "Did you find *Before Sunrise*?"

"Found it," Elena said, standing up and brushing dust off her jeans. She walked into the kitchen, wrapped her arms around Mark’s waist from behind, and rested her chin on his shoulder. "Happy four years, by the way."

"Happy four years," Mark smiled, leaning his head back against hers. "I know we said we’d go to that fancy Italian place downtown tonight, but honestly? This is way better."

"A hundred percent better," Elena agreed. She stepped away to grab two wine glasses from the open shelving and uncorked the Pinot Noir they’d bought specifically for the occasion.

Living together for the past two years had stripped away the need for grand, performative gestures. They didn't need an expensive, three-course meal at a crowded restaurant to validate their relationship. Instead, Elena poured the wine and lit the two taper candles on their small, scratched dining table, while Mark plated the salmon alongside a mountain of roasted asparagus.

He carried the plates over, kissing her cheek as he set hers down. "Movie queue is ready, food is hot," he said, pulling out his chair. "Here’s to us."

Elena clinked her glass against his, the gentle chime ringing through the quiet, cozy room. "Here's to us."


Maya leaned against the open refrigerator door, the cool air providing a brief respite from the muggy July evening. "I'm thinking we skip the crowded restaurants this Friday," she called out to the living room. "Four years is a big deal, but honestly, I’d rather just be here with you."

Liam appeared in the kitchen doorway, slipping his phone into his pocket. "I was hoping you'd say that," he smiled. "I actually just checked, and that upscale place downtown is booked solid anyway. What if we recreate our first date right here? I can pick up the ingredients for that spicy rigatoni."

Maya closed the fridge and turned to him, her eyes lighting up. "Yes! But only if I get to make the sauce. You always over-salt it."

"Fair enough," Liam laughed, stepping closer to wrap an arm around her waist. "You do the sauce, I’ll handle the pasta and garlic bread. I’ll also stop by the wine shop on 4th Street after work to grab that Barolo we had last year. Oh, what about dessert?"

"Tiramisu from the bakery down the block," Maya supplied instantly, leaning into his embrace. "But we have to order it by Wednesday, or they’ll sell out."

"I'll call them tomorrow on my lunch break," Liam promised. He walked over to the magnetic whiteboard hanging by the pantry and uncapped a marker. Under the heading *Groceries*, he wrote: *Rigatoni, crushed tomatoes, heavy cream, Barolo, Tiramisu*.

Maya watched him write, feeling a deep, quiet contentment. They didn't need an expensive reservation or a grand, performative gesture to validate their relationship. A shared kitchen, a handwritten grocery list, and a quiet Friday night together were exactly how she wanted to celebrate.