Maya leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Ben chop onions. The sizzle of olive oil in the pan was the soundtrack to their typical Tuesday night, but the calendar pinned to the fridge marked a rapidly approaching anomaly: their five-year anniversary.

"So, next weekend," Maya started, stealing a piece of raw bell pepper from the cutting board. "Five years. Do we have an actual plan, or are we doing our usual 'order Thai food and fall asleep watching a movie' routine?"

Ben scraped the onions into the skillet, pausing to wipe his hands on a dish towel. "I actually looked into that French place downtown. But the tasting menu is two hundred dollars a person, and honestly, I’d rather put that toward the new couch fund."

Maya nodded, quietly relieved. They had moved into their shared apartment two years ago, and merging their lives meant practical financial considerations often eclipsed grand romantic gestures. "Same. It feels wrong not to do *something* special for five years, though. It’s half a decade."

"What if we do a weekend trip?" Ben suggested, stirring the vegetables. "Just somewhere within driving distance. We could rent a little cabin up in the mountains. Drive up Friday after work, hike on Saturday, maybe find a decent local brewery."

Maya’s face lit up. It was the perfect middle ground. "I love that. We haven’t been out of the city since Thanksgiving. Plus, we can bring the dog."

"Exactly," Ben smiled, reaching over to bump her hip with his. "We’ll cook our own fancy dinner there. I’ll make those steaks you like, we’ll get a really nice bottle of wine, and it’ll cost half of what a tasting menu charges."

"Deal," Maya said, pulling out her phone. "I'll start looking at cabins right now."


Rain lashed against the living room window, but inside their shared Chicago apartment, the smell of freshly brewed coffee made the morning feel warm. Maya leaned against the kitchen island, watching Sam scroll through his phone.

"So," Maya began, wrapping both hands around her favorite ceramic mug. "Next Friday. Five years. Have we decided if we’re being fancy or lazy?"

Sam looked up, locking his phone and sliding it into his sweatpants pocket. "I was actually just looking at that new tasting-menu place downtown. The French one. But honestly, looking at the prices made me physically wince."

Maya laughed, taking a slow sip. "Let me guess, two hundred dollars a person?"

"Two-fifty," Sam corrected, walking over to pour himself a cup. "Plus wine pairings. We *could* do it, but with the rent increase on our lease renewal, I don't know if it's the smartest move."

"I'd rather put that money toward the patio furniture we’ve been talking about," Maya agreed, bumping her shoulder against his. "But five years is a big deal. We shouldn't just order pad thai and fall asleep on the couch watching baking shows. Not this time."

Sam smiled, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Okay, compromise. What if we take a day trip? We drive up to Lake Geneva early Saturday. Hike the trail, get away from the city for the afternoon, and then have a really nice—but reasonably priced—dinner at that tavern by the water."

Maya’s eyes lit up. "Wait, I love that. We haven't been up there since the summer we first moved in together."

"Exactly," Sam said, gently tapping his mug against hers. "Nostalgic, romantic, and we don't have to sell a kidney to pay for the appetizer."

"Perfect," Maya smiled. "Lake Geneva it is."


Maya stood at the kitchen island, rhythmically chopping bell peppers while Liam sifted through a stack of junk mail. The steady tap of her knife paused when he tossed a glossy jewelry catalog into the recycling bin.

"You know," Liam said, leaning against the granite counter. "Next Friday is five years. Half a decade."

Maya scraped the peppers into a hot skillet, the sizzle filling their shared apartment. "I know. Five years since we split that terrible pad thai on your lumpy college futon. We should do something actual adults do to celebrate. Maybe finally try that tasting menu at Le Petit Bistro?"

Liam winced playfully, clearly doing the math in his head. "Two hundred dollars a person, plus wine? I mean, I love you, but my car needs new brakes next week. What about a weekend away? We could rent a little cabin upstate."

"I'd love that," Maya sighed, stirring the vegetables, "but I'm completely out of PTO until January, and you're working overtime on your department's software launch."

Liam stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder. "Okay, so no Michelin stars, and no mountain retreats. What's the middle ground?"

Maya leaned back into him, thinking. "What if we just upgrade the pad thai? We order from that amazing place across town, the one that’s too expensive for a random Tuesday. We buy a ridiculously good bottle of wine, turn off our phones completely, and rent a movie."

"A terrible sci-fi movie?" Liam asked, a smile warming his voice.

"The worst we can find," Maya confirmed, turning her head to press a kiss to his cheek. "And we eat it right here, on our very comfortable couch."

"Perfect," Liam said. "Happy almost five years."


Maya sat cross-legged on their faded gray sofa, scrolling idly through her phone, while Julian dried the last of the dinner dishes in the open kitchen. Outside their Chicago apartment, rain tapped gently against the windows.

"So, the fifteenth is exactly three weeks away," Julian said, draping the dish towel over the oven handle. He walked over and handed her a mug of chamomile tea. "Five years since our first date. We should probably figure out what we’re doing."

Maya accepted the mug with a warm smile. "I was just looking at that, actually. Half of me wants to book a cabin up in Door County, and the other half remembers we’re supposed to be saving for a new car."

Julian sat down beside her, leaning his head against the back of the sofa with a sigh. "A cabin would be amazing, but you're right. The car fund needs all the help it can get. Maybe we don't need a massive getaway to make it special, though. What if we did a domestic retreat? A total blackout weekend."

Maya raised an eyebrow, blowing softly on her tea. "Define 'blackout weekend'."

"Phones off. No emails, no doomscrolling, no running errands," Julian explained, his hands animating his idea. "We splurge on that high-end Italian place downtown on Friday night—the one we couldn’t afford when we first met. Then, we spend Saturday and Sunday just... being here. We can cook together, open that fancy bottle of wine your sister got us, and actually watch the movies we keep adding to our queue."

Maya’s posture softened. The idea felt distinctly like them—intimate, intentional, and entirely unpretentious. "I love that," she said, resting her head against his shoulder. "High-end pasta and a two-day pajama mandate. Happy early five years to us."


Rain lashed against the living room window, blurring the glow of the Chicago streetlights outside. Maya sat cross-legged on the sofa, scrolling lazily through her phone, while Leo dried the last of the dinner dishes in the adjoining kitchen.

"Hey," Maya called out, tossing a throw pillow toward the kitchen to get his attention. "Next Friday is the twelfth."

Leo draped the dish towel over the oven handle and leaned against the breakfast bar. "Five years. Half a decade. Should we be panicking about making a huge deal out of this?"

Maya laughed, setting her phone face-down on the coffee table. "I actually looked at reservations for that new tasting menu place downtown. It’s two hundred dollars a person, and I’m pretty sure we’d both still be hungry afterward."

"Yeah, let's pass on spending our rent money on tiny plates of foam," Leo agreed, walking over and sinking into the cushions beside her. He bumped his shoulder affectionately against hers. "We could drive up to the lake? Try to book an Airbnb cabin for the weekend?"

"I'd love that, but neither of us can take Friday off right now with the quarterly reports due." Maya sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I feel like everyone expects us to do something grand for year five, but honestly? I just want to spend time with you without stressing over a schedule."

Leo’s expression brightened. "What if we do a premium version of our usual Friday night? We go to the local butcher, get those dry-aged ribeyes we always stare at, and pick up a bottle of wine that actually costs more than fifteen bucks."

"And rent that new sci-fi movie?" Maya asked, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Obviously." Leo kissed the top of her head.

"Steak, expensive wine, and aliens," Maya said, her residual anniversary anxiety entirely evaporating. "Happy five years to us."


Sunlight streamed into the kitchen of their Denver bungalow, illuminating the dust motes dancing above the quartz island. Maya leaned over her laptop, nursing a lukewarm mug of coffee, while Liam scrambled eggs at the stove.

"Hey," Maya said, glancing up from her digital calendar. "Next Friday is the twelfth. Five years."

Liam turned, spatula in hand, a soft smile breaking across his tired face. "Five years. Wow. We should probably do something slightly more elevated than our usual Friday night couch-and-pizza routine."

"Agreed," Maya laughed, closing her laptop. "I was looking at cabins up in Estes Park, but with the plumbing repair we just paid for, a weekend away feels a bit steep right now."

"Yeah, the new water heater really dipped into the romance budget," Liam said, sliding the eggs onto two plates and handing one across the counter. "What about a really nice dinner out? We haven't been to that new French place downtown."

Maya tapped her fork against her chin, considering it. "We could. But honestly? Getting dressed up and trying to hear each other over a crowded dining room doesn't sound very relaxing. What if we recreated our first date?"

"The food truck festival?" Liam asked, raising an eyebrow. "In November?"

"Okay, maybe not the freezing outdoor part," Maya conceded. "But what if we finally attempt to make those Korean short rib tacos ourselves? We can buy the good tequila, put on that terrible indie playlist you made me in 2019, and actually stay in our sweatpants."

Liam chuckled, sitting down on the stool next to her and bumping his shoulder affectionately against hers. "Short ribs, top-shelf margaritas, and sweatpants. Sounds like a perfect anniversary to me. I'll handle the grocery run if you handle the marinades."

"Deal," Maya smiled, finally digging into her breakfast.


Rain lashed against the living room window, but inside their shared Chicago apartment, the atmosphere was warm. Maya sat cross-legged on the rug, scrolling through her laptop calendar, while Liam folded a mountain of warm laundry on the sofa.

"Hey," Maya said, tapping her screen. "Next month is the fourteenth. Five years."

Liam paused, a pair of socks dangling from his hands. "Wow. Five years. We should probably do something bigger than our usual Friday night Thai takeout to celebrate."

"Agreed," Maya smiled. "But what? A weekend in Michigan? The leaves will be turning."

Liam tossed the folded socks into the basket. "Michigan would be great, but honestly, with the Subaru needing new brakes next week, a boutique hotel stay might stretch the budget a bit thin."

"Fair point," Maya sighed, leaning back against the couch. "We could go downtown instead. Try to get a reservation at that new French place you've been eyeing."

Liam thought about it, then grimaced. "Honestly? The idea of taking the train downtown and wearing a blazer on a Friday night after a fifty-hour work week sounds kind of exhausting."

Maya laughed, a rich sound that made Liam smile. "God, we’re practically an old married couple."

"Domesticated, definitely," Liam agreed, sliding off the sofa to sit next to her on the floor. "What if we compromise? We both take the Friday off. We drive up to Starved Rock for a day hike to see the leaves, and then come back here. We'll buy two ridiculously expensive steaks, a great bottle of wine, and cook together."

Maya’s eyes lit up. "Wait, I love that. A day off just for us, no restaurant crowds, and sweatpants for dinner."

"Exactly," Liam said, leaning in to kiss her temple. "Happy early anniversary."


The scent of sizzling garlic filled the small kitchen as Maya pushed a pile of chopped bell peppers into the skillet. Across the island, Liam was meticulously washing the cutting board, the sleeves of his work shirt rolled up to his elbows.

"Can you believe it's been five years next Friday?" Maya asked, tapping her wooden spoon against the edge of the pan.

Liam looked up, shaking the excess water from his hands. "Five years. Half a decade. We should probably do something bigger than our usual pad thai and a couch marathon."

Maya leaned back against the counter, lowering the heat on the stove. "I was thinking the same thing. But honestly, I don't want to drop three hundred dollars at that new steakhouse downtown. Not with our lease renewal coming up."

"Agreed," Liam said, tossing a towel onto the rack. "Plus, getting a reservation there takes a minor miracle. What if we took a day trip? We could drive up to the mountains, rent a cabin for just one night, and do the ridge hike."

Maya winced apologetically. "A weekend trip might be tough. I have that massive quarterly review on Monday, and I know I’ll just be stressing about my slides the whole time."

"Okay, fair point." Liam closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms comfortably around her waist. "What about recreating our first date? Just… upgraded."

Maya smiled, a fond memory surfacing. "Tacos from the food truck by the lake?"

"Exactly," Liam said. "But this time, we don't freeze on the damp grass. We pack the good wine from the back of the cupboard, bring the thick wool blanket, and pick up some tarts from the French bakery."

"That actually sounds perfect," Maya said, her smile widening. "Low stakes, highly sentimental. Tacos, expensive wine, and absolutely no talk about work."

"It's a deal," Liam said, kissing her forehead. "I'll handle the wine and pastries. You just bring your appetite."


Maya scraped the chopped bell peppers into the sizzling skillet, the smell of garlic filling their cramped Chicago kitchen. Leaning against the counter, Liam handed her a spatula.

"So," Liam said, taking a sip of his sparkling water. "Next Friday. Five years."

Maya smiled, keeping her eyes on the stove. "Half a decade. We survived a cross-country move, two apartment changes, and your intense sourdough baking phase."

"Hey, the sourdough was necessary," Liam laughed. "But seriously, what are we doing? I looked at that boutique hotel up in Door County, but it’s nearly four hundred dollars a night right now."

Maya winced. "Yeah, let's not dip into the house down-payment fund for one weekend. But I also don't want to just order our usual pad thai and watch Netflix like it’s a random Tuesday."

"Agreed." Liam crossed his arms, staring thoughtfully at their mismatched spice rack. "What if we do a recreation of our first date? Or at least the good parts of it."

"You want to go back to that awful, sticky bowling alley?"

"No," Liam smiled. "I want to go to the little Italian place around the corner from it, get the exact same bottle of cheap Chianti, and then take a walk by the lake. We can dress up. Really dress up. Suit and tie, fancy dress."

Maya turned the stove burner down, considering it. They hadn't dressed up just for each other in months. Between her recent promotion and his freelance schedule, romance had too often taken a backseat to sheer exhaustion.

"I love that," she said softly, turning to face him. "The savings stay intact, but we still get to feel fancy. Make the reservation?"

"Already on it," Liam said, pulling out his phone. He stepped forward to kiss the top of her head. "Happy almost-five-years."


The scent of roasting garlic filled the narrow galley kitchen of Maya and Liam’s Chicago apartment. Maya leaned against the counter, absently peeling a foil label off a wine bottle while Liam stirred the risotto.

"So," Maya started, taking a sip of her water. "Next Friday. Five years."

Liam looked up, a warm smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Five years. Half a decade of you stealing the good pillows."

"I don't steal them, I just naturally migrate toward them," she corrected easily. "But seriously, what are we doing? My mom texted this morning asking if we were going to that fancy Michelin-star place downtown."

Liam groaned softly, turning the stove's heat down to a simmer. "Alinea? Maya, we'd have to sell the couch to afford the tasting menu. Plus, I don't really want to spend our anniversary in a stiff suit."

"Thank God," Maya exhaled, her shoulders dropping in genuine relief. "I really didn't want to wear Spanx. But it is a big milestone. We shouldn't just do our usual couch-pizza and Netflix, either."

"Agreed." Liam tapped the wooden spoon against the edge of the pot. "What if we drive up to Door County? We haven't been since our first year together. We could rent a little cabin, hike Peninsula State Park, and actually unplug for the weekend."

Maya thought about it. The image of the lake, the quiet woods, and just the two of them without the hum of the city or the pressure of a four-hour dining experience felt exactly right.

"A cabin," Maya said, her smile catching the kitchen light. "Sweatpants, decent wine, and a ridiculous amount of firewood. I love it."

"I'll look at rentals tonight," Liam said, reaching over to kiss her temple. "Happy early anniversary."


The scent of garlic and roasting chicken filled the kitchen of the modest Craftsman home Maya and Liam had been renting for the past three years. Liam stood at the island, chopping celery, while Maya stirred a simmering pot of wild rice.

"So," Maya said, tapping her wooden spoon against the edge of the pot. "Next Friday. Five years."

Liam looked up, sliding the diced celery into a bowl. "I know. Half a decade. We need to do something a little better than last year's takeout and Netflix marathon."

"Hey, we both had the flu last year," Maya reminded him with a laugh. "But yes, a step up from soup and NyQuil is definitely required."

"What if we drove up to the Catskills for the weekend?" Liam suggested, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "Rent a little cabin, do some hiking, get out of the city?"

Maya considered it, turning down the heat on the stove. "I love the idea, but with my big quarterly presentation on Monday, I think I'd spend the whole drive stressing. What if we keep it local, but make it an actual event?"

"Define event."

"We could go to that French bistro downtown we've been walking past for months," she said. "The one with the ridiculous waiting list. I checked today, and they actually have a cancellation for an eight o'clock table next Friday."

Liam smiled, walking around the island to wrap his arms around her waist. "Look at you, scouting reservations. French food, a really good bottle of wine, and then a walk by the lake?"

"Exactly," Maya said, leaning back into him. "It feels like us. No packing, just a great night out."

"It’s a date," Liam agreed, kissing the top of her head. "I'll even wear a tie. Five years deserves at least a little dressing up."


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting cumin. Maya leaned against the quartz counter, watching Leo chop bell peppers with a slow, methodical precision he reserved entirely for Tuesday fajita nights.

"So," Maya said, taking a sip of her sparkling water. "Next Saturday. Five years."

Leo paused, the knife resting on the cutting board, and smiled. "Half a decade. Are we doing the downtown tasting menu thing again? I can try to snag a late reservation somewhere fancy, though we might end up eating at ten-thirty at night."

Maya groaned softly. "Honestly? Putting on heels and paying three hundred dollars to still be hungry when we get home sounds exhausting this year."

"Fair enough," Leo chuckled, sweeping the peppers into the hot skillet. The kitchen filled with a loud, savory sizzle. "We could book a cabin upstate for the weekend?"

"With the plumber coming on Sunday morning to fix the shower valve? We can't cancel on him again, or we'll be sharing one bathroom until Christmas." Maya sighed, walking over to wrap her arms around his waist from behind. "Homeownership is really cramping our romance."

"We just have to pivot," Leo said, turning his head to kiss her cheek. "What if we go back to the basics? Think first date."

Maya raised an eyebrow. "You want to stand outside in the freezing wind eating tacos from the food truck on 4th Street?"

"I want to *buy* tacos from the food truck on 4th Street," Leo corrected. "Then bring them back here, put on that terrible indie playlist you made in 2019, and eat them on the living room rug in sweatpants."

Maya squeezed him affectionately. "Tacos, sweatpants, and zero plumbing emergencies. It’s a date."


Maya was chopping onions at the kitchen island while Leo stood by the stove, stirring the marinara sauce. At their feet, their golden retriever, Barnaby, slept soundly, fully accustomed to the evening dinner routine of their shared Seattle townhouse.

"So, next Saturday is the big five," Leo said, tapping his wooden spoon on the edge of the pot.

Maya scraped the diced onions into the sizzling pan. "Five years. Half a decade. Are we supposed to do something extravagant? Because I saw an ad for a couples' spa retreat in Sedona."

"I looked at reservations for that Michelin-star tasting menu downtown," Leo countered, lowering the heat on the stove. "But honestly? The thought of wearing a tie on my only day off feels like a punishment."

Maya leaned against the counter, wiping a stray onion-induced tear from her cheek. "I’m so glad you said that. Three hours of eating tiny foam-covered plates sounds exhausting. But we should do *something* memorable. It’s a milestone, and we rarely celebrate just us."

"A weekend away?" Leo suggested. "Rent a cabin on the coast?"

"With Friday traffic? We’d be stressed before we even unpacked." Maya crossed her arms, thinking.

Leo tasted the sauce, adding a pinch of salt. "Okay, what about a premium staycation? We order from that wildly expensive downtown steakhouse that actually delivers, buy a bottle of champagne from the top shelf, and ignore the outside world for twenty-four hours."

Maya smiled, reaching over to steal a piece of raw bell pepper. "Only if we ban cell phones and finally light those expensive pillar candles we’ve been hoarding."

"Deal," Leo said, leaning over the counter to kiss her forehead. "Five years, and your ideal night is still just staying home with me."

"Well," Maya laughed, looking around their warm kitchen,


The morning sun spilled across the kitchen island, highlighting the steam rising from Maya’s coffee mug. She scrolled through her calendar, tapping the screen thoughtfully with her thumb.

"Hey," she said, looking up at Leo, who was carefully flipping pancakes at the stove. "The fifteenth is exactly two weeks away. Five years."

Leo paused, spatula in hand, and smiled over his shoulder. "Five years. Half a decade since that awful blind date at the bowling alley."

"Hey, I liked the bowling alley," Maya laughed. "But we need to figure out what we’re doing. We basically skipped year four because we were in the middle of the kitchen renovation, so I feel like we should actually acknowledge five."

Leo slid a pancake onto a plate and brought it to the counter. "Agreed. What were you thinking? A fancy dinner downtown? We could try to get a reservation at Leeward."

Maya stirred her coffee. "We could. But honestly, dropping three hundred dollars on a meal feels a little much right now, especially with the property tax bill coming next month."

"Fair point. The joys of shared homeownership," Leo said, leaning against the counter next to her. "What if we just get away from the house for a bit? We don't need to fly anywhere. Maybe we rent a tiny cabin up in the Blue Ridge Mountains? Just us, some hiking, and terrible cell service."

Maya’s eyes lit up. "A cabin weekend. That sounds perfect, actually. We can pick up steaks and a good bottle of wine on the way up, and make our own fancy dinner."

"I'll start looking for places with a fire pit," Leo said, pulling out his phone. "Happy almost-five-years, Maya."

"Happy almost-five-years," she replied, leaning over to steal a bite of his breakfast.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the only sound was the rhythmic thumping of the clothes dryer. Maya folded a pair of Sam’s jeans and tossed them onto the growing pile on the sofa.

"So, next Friday is five years," she said, not looking up from a stubborn, inside-out sweater. "We should probably figure out a plan before everywhere books up."

Sam looked up from his laptop, taking off his reading glasses. "Five years. Half a decade. We should do something big, right? We could try to get a reservation for that tasting menu downtown."

Maya chuckled, leaning against the armrest. "That place costs as much as a car payment, Sam. And honestly, after the week I've had, I don't really want to spend our anniversary in a stiff dress pretending I know what a foam emulsion is."

"Fair point," Sam agreed, looking visibly relieved. He closed his laptop and moved over to the sofa, grabbing a t-shirt to help her fold. "What about a weekend trip? We could drive up to Michigan, get a cabin with a fireplace."

"I'd love that, but neither of us can take Friday off with our quarterly reports due," Maya pointed out, handing him a stack of towels. "We need something low-stress."

Sam thought for a moment. "Okay, what if we recreate our first date? We order the greasiest pad thai from that place on 4th Street, buy a cheap bottle of Malbec, and argue about the ending of *Inception*?"

Maya smiled, a genuine warmth spreading across her face. "Only if we eat it sitting on the living room floor because we 'don't have a dining table yet.'"

"Deal," Sam said, leaning over to kiss her forehead. "I’ll order the noodles. You queue up the movie."


Morning sunlight slanted across the quartz kitchen island as Maya refilled her coffee mug. She paused, staring at the magnetic calendar on the fridge.

"Liam," she said, leaning against the counter. "Next Friday is the twelfth."

Liam looked up from his laptop, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Our five-year anniversary. I know. I haven't forgotten."

"I wasn't accusing," Maya laughed, walking over to sit beside him. "I just realized we haven't made any plans. Five years is a big one. My mother keeps dropping hints about engagement rings, which means I’m officially feeling the pressure from the outside world to do something monumental."

Liam closed his laptop, giving her his full attention. "We’re not really the monumental type, are we? We bought a lawnmower together last weekend. That felt pretty committed."

Maya smiled, bumping her shoulder against his. "True. We like our life just the way it is. So, what’s the anti-monumental plan? We could do the fancy steakhouse downtown."

"We could," Liam said slowly, "but we always complain that it’s too loud and overpriced. What if we kept it authentic to us? We could go back to that terrible taco truck where we first talked about moving in together."

Maya’s eyes lit up. "El Camino? Are they even still parked by the old hardware store?"

"I drove by Tuesday. Still there," Liam confirmed. "We grab a ridiculous amount of al pastor tacos, bring them back here, open that bottle of wine we brought back from Sonoma, and finally build a fire in the firepit."

Maya reached across the table and took his hand, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. "Tacos, expensive wine, and a fire in our own backyard. Honestly, Liam? That sounds like the perfect way to celebrate us."


Maya leaned against the kitchen counter, warming her hands around a ceramic mug of coffee. Outside their Seattle apartment, the persistent Sunday morning drizzle blurred the skyline. She watched Sam load the dishwasher, his hair still rumpled from sleep.

"You know," Maya said, blowing steam off her coffee, "next weekend is the fifth."

Sam paused, a cereal bowl suspended in his hand. He did the mental math, then smiled warmly. "Five years. Half a decade. I guess we actually survived assembling that IKEA bookshelf together."

"Barely," Maya laughed. "But we should probably figure out how to celebrate. A five-year milestone deserves a little more effort than our usual Friday night pad thai."

Sam closed the dishwasher and leaned against the counter next to her. "We could do a fancy dinner downtown. I heard that new tasting menu place in Capitol Hill is amazing, though getting a last-minute reservation might be brutal."

Maya crinkled her nose. "I looked it up yesterday. It’s almost two hundred dollars a person. Honestly, I’d rather put that kind of money toward our new couch fund."

"Practical as always," Sam teased, gently bumping his shoulder against hers. "Okay, what if we take Friday off work? We can drive up to the Cascades and rent a little A-frame cabin for two nights. No Wi-Fi, just a fireplace and a few bottles of decent wine."

Maya’s expression softened. "That actually sounds perfect. But what about Buster?"

"My mom can watch the dog," Sam said confidently. "She’s been begging for a weekend with her 'grand-pup' anyway."

"A mountain cabin it is, then." Maya set her mug down and wrapped her arms around his waist. "We can grill steaks together. Just the two of us."

"It’s a plan," Sam murmured, kissing the top of her head. "Happy early anniversary."


Rain lashed against the living room window of the Seattle townhouse Maya and Liam had rented together for the past three years. Maya looked up from her laptop, the glow of the screen reflecting in her glasses.

"Liam, next Saturday is the twelfth," she said, her voice carrying a mix of surprise and anticipation. "Five years."

Liam lowered his paperback, marking the page with his thumb. "Wow. Five years. Time flies. We should probably do something slightly more elevated than our usual Friday night takeout and a board game, right?"

"Probably," Maya agreed, closing her laptop and moving over to the couch to sit beside him. "My mom texted earlier asking if we were throwing a party. I told her absolutely not."

Liam chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Good call. I love our friends, but I really don't want to spend our anniversary playing host and cleaning up empty beer cans. What about a getaway? We could drive down to Portland for the weekend. Book a nice boutique hotel, eat too much good food."

Maya sighed, leaning her head comfortably against his shoulder. "Portland sounds amazing, but with the Subaru needing new brakes this month, maybe we shouldn't drop six hundred dollars on a weekend trip."

"Fair point," Liam conceded, wrapping an arm around her. "Okay, so what’s the middle ground between a pricey road trip and sitting right here on this couch?"

"What if we recreate our first date?" Maya suggested. "We can go to that overpriced Italian place downtown, then walk through the arboretum. Except this time, we won't be sweating through our clothes trying to impress each other."

Liam smiled, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I like that. We’ll dress up, order the expensive wine, and come back to our own bed."

"Perfect," Maya said. "It's a date."


Rain tapped gently against the living room window of the Seattle duplex Maya and Leo had shared for the past two years. Maya sat cross-legged on the sofa, scrolling idly on her laptop, while Leo nursed a mug of black coffee at the kitchen peninsula.

"Hey," Maya called out, peering over her screen. "Can you believe it’s going to be five years next month?"

Leo looked up, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Five years since that disastrous pub trivia night. Time flies." He walked over and sat down on the cushion beside her. "Have you thought about what we should do to celebrate?"

"I was looking at A-frame cabins out in the Cascades," she said, turning the laptop to show him a cozy, wood-paneled bedroom. "Just a quiet weekend away. But it's pretty pricey, especially since we just had to buy that new washing machine."

Leo winced slightly at the fresh memory of the appliance bill, gently rubbing her shoulder. "Yeah, that put a dent in the joint savings. What if we do something a little closer to home? We don't need a huge trip to make it special."

Maya leaned into his touch, closing the laptop. "True. Honestly, I'd be happy just going back to that little Italian place downtown. The one with the cramped tables and the amazing truffle ravioli."

"Mario's?" Leo’s eyes lit up. "I love that idea. We can splurge on a nice bottle of Barolo. And this time, we actually order the tiramisu instead of pretending we're too polite to eat dessert."

Maya laughed, remembering how nervous they had both been back then. "Deal. Truffle ravioli, wine, and dessert. No cooking, no chores."

"Perfect," Leo said, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. "Five years down, and I wouldn't want to split a washing machine bill with anyone else."


The scent of dark roast coffee filled their sunlit Chicago apartment as Maya leaned against the kitchen counter, scrolling through her calendar.

"You know," she said, tapping her phone screen, "next Friday is our five-year."

Liam looked up from the dining table, where he was sorting a modest pile of mail. "Five years. Half a decade. We should probably do something more than our usual takeout and a Netflix marathon this time."

Maya smiled, walking over to hand him a steaming mug. "I don't know, couch time sounds pretty appealing after the work week I've had. But you're right. Five years is a milestone. What did you have in mind?"

"Well, we could try for a table at Le Bouchon," Liam suggested, taking a sip. "We haven't been there since the night we signed the lease on this place."

"I actually checked their reservations last night out of curiosity. Booked solid until November," Maya sighed. "Besides, dropping three hundred dollars on dinner feels a little irresponsible when we're trying to save for the bathroom renovation."

Liam chuckled, pulling her gently by the waist so she stood between his knees. "True. New subway tile is much sexier than duck confit. What if we do a day trip instead? We could drive up to Starved Rock, do a long hike, and just get away from the city for the afternoon."

Maya’s face brightened. "Oh, I love that idea. The leaves are just starting to change."

"And on the way back," Liam added, his eyes crinkling at the corners, "we can stop at that little Italian deli, grab the expensive prosciutto, and *then* have our couch marathon."

"Fancy meat, fresh air, and my favorite person," Maya said, leaning down to kiss him. "Happy early anniversary to us."


The morning sun spilled across the kitchen island as Maya scrolled through her tablet, a half-empty mug of coffee cooling beside her. Across from her, Liam was meticulously applying avocado to a piece of sourdough, his hair still damp from the shower.

"So," Maya said, not looking up from the screen. "Next Friday is the fifteenth."

Liam paused, the butter knife hovering in mid-air. "Five years. Half a decade. We survived a global pandemic, two brutal apartment moves, and your weird obsession with true crime podcasts."

"Barely," Maya smirked, finally meeting his eyes. "But we need to figure out what we’re doing. Sarah asked if we were taking a trip, but with the plumbing bill we just got for the guest bathroom, a long weekend in Napa feels a little irresponsible right now."

Liam nodded, taking a bite of his toast. "Yeah, the plumber definitely torpedoed the getaway fund. But five years is a big deal. We shouldn't just order Thai takeout and fall asleep on the couch like a regular Friday."

"Agreed. What if we do a high-low mix?" Maya suggested, leaning forward. "We both take Friday off from work. We can drive out to the state park, do that hike to the falls we keep talking about, and pack a really obnoxious, overpriced picnic."

"I like where this is going. Cured meats, imported cheeses..."

"Exactly," Maya said, her smile widening. "Then we come back here, shower, and go to that new Italian place downtown. The one with the homemade pasta. It’s a splurge, but not a 'plane tickets and hotel' splurge."

Liam pointed his knife at her in agreement. "Sold. I'll call the restaurant right now to see if they have a table left, and you look up the trail map."

"Deal." Maya reached for her coffee. It was cold, but she drank it anyway, feeling perfectly content.


Maya leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping her morning coffee as she watched Liam meticulously assemble a turkey sandwich for his lunch. The morning sun filtered through the blinds of their Portland apartment, illuminating the comfortable, everyday clutter of their shared life.

"So, next Friday," Maya said, tracing the rim of her ceramic mug. "Five years. Have we actually made a decision yet?"

Liam paused, the mayonnaise knife hovering over a slice of sourdough. "I was thinking about that last night. I know we originally talked about doing the tasting menu at that new French place downtown, but honestly? It’s three hundred bucks, and with the Subaru needing new tires next month..."

"I know," Maya sighed, though a genuine wave of relief washed over her. She hadn’t wanted to be the one to veto the fancy dinner. "As amazing as a seven-course meal sounds, I’d rather not stress about the credit card bill on our anniversary."

"Exactly." Liam wrapped his sandwich in foil. "What if we did a weekend trip instead? Just drive out to the coast. We could rent one of those little A-frame cabins near Cannon Beach, build a fire, and just cook dinner together."

Maya smiled, picturing the misty Oregon shoreline and the quiet warmth of a woodstove. It felt much more true to who they were than stiff collars and tiny portions of caviar. "A weekend away sounds perfect. But only if we attempt that Dungeness crab pasta you completely ruined on our second anniversary. You know, for redemption."

Liam laughed, tossing his lunch into his canvas bag. "Deal. I promise not to drop the entire pot of noodles in the sink this time."

He stepped over, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. "Five years, huh?"

"Five years," Maya agreed, leaning into his shoulder. "Book the cabin. I'll buy the crab."


The smell of dark roast coffee filled the galley kitchen of Maya and David’s Chicago apartment. Outside, the October rain tapped lightly against the windowpane, blurring the gray city skyline.

"So," Maya said, leaning against the quartz counter as she handed David his mug. "Next Friday. Five years."

David took a sip, leaning back against the stainless-steel refrigerator. "Five years. Half a decade of you subconsciously stealing the good pillows."

"I don't steal them, I acquire them in my sleep," Maya corrected with a slight smile. "But seriously, what are we doing? My sister texted asking if we're throwing a party, but after this work week, I honestly don't have the energy to host."

"Agreed. No parties," David said, setting his mug down. "We could finally do the tasting menu at that French place downtown. I know we talked about it last year."

Maya wrinkled her nose. "I looked at the reservations. It’s completely booked, and honestly, spending four hundred dollars on dinner right now feels a little irresponsible with our lease renewal coming up."

"Fair point. So, low-key but significant." David crossed his arms, staring thoughtfully at the magnetic calendar on the fridge. "What about a weekend away? We haven't been up to Michigan since last summer. We could rent one of those small A-frame cabins near the lake. Just us, some overpriced wine, and a fireplace."

Maya’s expression softened. "A cabin. No coordinating with friends, no squeezing into uncomfortable fancy clothes?"

"Just sweatpants and however many pillows you want to pack," David smiled.

"I love it," she said, stepping forward to wrap her arms loosely around his waist. "Let's book it after breakfast. Happy early five years."

"Happy five years," David murmured, kissing the top of her head.


Maya sat cross-legged on the faded gray sofa, scrolling through a list of heavily booked restaurants on her phone. Across the open-concept living room, Sam was chopping an onion for their Tuesday night stir-fry, the rhythmic thud of the knife filling the quiet space.

"So, next weekend," Maya said, glancing up. "Five years. We should probably figure out what we're actually doing before everywhere is completely booked."

Sam wiped his hands on a dish towel and leaned against the kitchen island. "Wow, five years. Part of me feels like we should do the whole tasting menu thing at Le Petit Coq. Get dressed up, spend way too much on wine."

Maya wrinkled her nose playfully. "We could. But honestly? Getting dressed up and shouting over a crowded dining room sounds exhausting right now."

"Fair point," Sam agreed, walking over and sinking onto the cushion beside her. "Work has been crazy for both of us. What about a weekend trip? We could drive up to the Catskills. Just rent a little cabin, build a fire, and completely ignore our emails."

"I love the cabin idea, but looking at these Airbnb prices..." Maya sighed, tilting her phone screen toward him to show the heavily inflated weekend rates.

Sam grimaced. "Yikes. Okay, maybe not this month. What if we do a high-low night?" he suggested. "We go out to that fancy cocktail bar downtown for a couple of ridiculously overpriced drinks, and then we come back here, order a massive amount of our favorite Thai takeout, and eat it in our sweatpants?"

Maya’s face lit up with a genuine smile, the stress of planning melting away. "Overpriced cocktails and Pad Kee Mao in sweatpants? That sounds exactly like us."

"It's a date, then," Sam smiled, leaning in to kiss her forehead before heading back to his half-chopped onion.


Rain lashed against the living room window, but inside their shared Chicago apartment, the atmosphere was warm. Maya curled her feet under a woven throw blanket, scrolling absently on her phone, while Sam sat at the opposite end of the couch, nursing a mug of peppermint tea.

"So," Sam said, breaking the comfortable silence. "Next Friday. Five years."

Maya looked up, a soft smile breaking across her face. "Half a decade. We survived two stressful apartment moves, adopting a moderately destructive terrier, and assembling an IKEA wardrobe without breaking up."

"A true modern miracle," Sam laughed, reaching over to nudge her foot. "Have you thought about what you want to do? We could try to get a reservation at that ridiculous tasting-menu place downtown. Or maybe book a cabin near the lake for the weekend?"

Maya considered it. A part of her loved the idea of a grand gesture, but looking around their cozy, slightly cluttered living room, the exhaustion of their recent work weeks weighed on her.

"The lake sounds nice, but honestly? Driving three hours in Friday traffic sounds exhausting right now," Maya admitted, setting her phone face-down on the coffee table. "And the tasting menu is half our grocery budget for the month."

Sam nodded slowly, visibly relieved. "I was kind of thinking the same thing, but I didn't want to sound boring for our five-year."

"You're not boring, you're practical. That's why I like living with you." Maya tilted her head, thinking. "What if we compromise? We both take Friday off work. We sleep in, get pastries from that French bakery we never have time for, and then we buy ridiculously expensive steaks and cook them right here."

"Only if I get to pick the wine," Sam said, his eyes brightening.

"Deal," Maya said.


Rain lashed against the living room window, blurring the suburban Ohio street outside. Maya pulled her fleece blanket tighter and looked over the rim of her coffee mug. On the other end of the couch, Sam was scrolling through a hardware store app, muttering about weather-stripping.

"So," Maya said, breaking his concentration. "Next weekend. Five years."

Sam lowered his phone, a slow, warm smile spreading across his face. "Five years. Half a decade of you stealing all the hot water."

"And you leaving the kitchen cabinet doors open," she countered easily. "Seriously, though. What are we doing? My mom asked if we were going up to the city for a fancy dinner."

Sam let out a soft sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "We could. There's that new French place downtown. But to be honest, dropping three hundred dollars on tiny portions feels like a lot right now, especially since we just had to replace the water heater."

Maya nodded in agreement. She loved a good excuse to dress up, but the thought of navigating weekend traffic and hunting for parking didn't thrill her either. "You're right. Plus, I don't really want to yell across a crowded dining room just to hear you talk."

"What if we stay in?" Sam suggested, shifting closer so their feet touched under the blanket. "I'll make that mushroom risotto you love. We can buy a ridiculously expensive bottle of wine instead."

"Only if I get to pick the wine," Maya said. "And maybe we can finally finish that weird sci-fi movie we fell asleep during on our second date."

"Deal," Sam laughed. "Fancy wine, homemade risotto, and terrible aliens. Sounds like a perfect five years."

Maya smiled at the rain. It wasn't the grandiose celebration the world expected, but it was exactly what she wanted.


Rain hammered against the kitchen window of their Portland bungalow as Maya chopped bell peppers. Across the kitchen island, David was tending to a sizzling pan of chicken.

"Hey," Maya said, scraping the cutting board with the edge of her knife. "Did you realize next Friday is five years?"

David paused, spatula in hand. "Five years since we crammed all our boxes into that rusty U-Haul and swore we’d never move in the rain again?"

"The very same," Maya smiled. "I was thinking about how we should celebrate. I looked at reservations for that French place downtown, but the tasting menu is nearly two hundred dollars a person now."

David grimaced playfully. "Ouch. With the property tax bill hitting next month, maybe we skip the fancy duck liver?"

"My thoughts exactly," she agreed, sliding the peppers into his pan. "I also thought about renting an Airbnb on the coast for the weekend, just us and the dog."

"I would genuinely love that," David said, his tone softening, "but I’ve got that massive software rollout on Monday morning. I’m going to be glued to my laptop all weekend just monitoring the servers. I wouldn't be very good company."

Maya sighed, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Right, the rollout. Okay, what if we just stay in? We can order an obscene amount of takeout from Thai Orchid, buy a ten-dollar bottle of Malbec, and finally beat that co-op video game we abandoned last winter."

David’s face lit up. "Wait, really? That sounds incredible. I'll even stop by the bakery on my way home and get those chocolate croissants you love."

Maya leaned over the island to kiss his cheek. "It’s a date. Five years under one roof, celebrated with noodles and video games."

"Perfect," David smiled. "Very us."


Liam wiped the kitchen counter down with a damp sponge, pausing to look at the calendar pinned to the side of the fridge. "Hey, the twentieth is next Friday. Five years."

Maya looked up from her laptop at the dining table, pushing a stray curl behind her ear. "Wow. Half a decade. We survived a cross-country move, two apartment leases, and assembling that massive IKEA dresser without breaking up."

"A true testament to our bond," Liam laughed, tossing the sponge into the sink. "So, what’s the plan? We should probably do something a little bigger than our usual pad thai takeout."

Maya closed her laptop, giving him her full attention. "I was actually thinking about that on my commute today. Part of me wants to book a weekend up in a cabin in the Catskills. Just totally unplug."

"A cabin sounds amazing," Liam said, leaning against the counter. "But getting a decent rental this close to the date might be tough, and probably ridiculously expensive."

Maya sighed, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, you're right. I haven't even looked at prices yet, but I can imagine. What were you thinking?"

"Well, what if we compromised? We take Friday off work. Spend the afternoon hiking at Breakneck Ridge, so we get our nature fix, and then come back to the city for a really nice dinner. We could finally try that tasting menu at the French place downtown we've been walking past for a year."

Maya’s face lit up. "Oh, I love that. A day trip and fancy food. It's the best of both worlds."

"I'll make the reservation tonight," Liam promised, walking over to kiss the top of her head.

"And I'll map out the trail," Maya agreed, leaning into him. Five years felt significant, but the easy, comfortable rhythm of their shared life felt even better.


Maya scraped the diced onions into the sizzling pan, leaning back to avoid the stinging vapor. Across the kitchen island, Liam sifted through a stack of mail, tossing most of it into the recycling bin.

"Hey," Liam said, pausing on their utility bill. "I just looked at the date. The fifteenth is next Friday."

Maya lowered the heat on the stove, the wooden spoon pausing in her hand. "Five years. That really snuck up on us."

"It's a big milestone," Liam noted, resting his elbows on the granite counter. "We should do something. Realistically, though, taking a whole weekend away is out. My project deadline is next Thursday, and I know you're covering Sarah’s shifts."

"A trip sounds exhausting anyway," Maya agreed, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She walked around the island and leaned against the stool next to him. "But I don't want to just let it pass. We survived a pandemic in this house, adopted a terribly behaved dog, and haven't killed each other. That deserves acknowledgment."

Liam smiled, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "A really nice dinner, then? We could finally try that French place downtown."

Maya thought about it, then wrinkled her nose. "Honestly? It’s always so loud in there, and I don't want to wear heels after being on my feet all week. What if we do exactly what we did on our first date, but upgraded? We order the ridiculous spicy noodles from Thai Spice, buy a bottle of wine that actually costs more than twelve dollars, and watch a terrible sci-fi movie on the couch."

"Only if we get the mango sticky rice, too," Liam countered.

"Deal." Maya kissed his cheek before turning back to the stove.

"I'll put the order in Thursday," Liam said. "Happy early anniversary."


Maya leaned against the kitchen counter, wrapping both hands around her ceramic mug to soak up the warmth. Outside their Seattle duplex, a familiar gray drizzle washed over the street. The smell of freshly ground coffee filled the small room, grounding them in their typical Sunday routine.

"You know, the twelfth is only two weeks away," she said, watching Liam scroll through an article on his phone.

Liam looked up, his thumb pausing on the screen. "Five years. Half a decade." He smiled, setting the device face-down on the butcher block island. "Are we doing the downtown steakhouse routine again? I think my wallet is still recovering from year four."

Maya laughed, shaking her head. "Please, no. I loved the food, but having to wear heels in the rain and hunting for street parking wasn't exactly my idea of romance."

"Agreed. So what’s the alternative? We could just order massive amounts of Thai food and watch a movie, but five years feels like it deserves a little more deliberate effort."

"What about a weekend trip?" Maya suggested, pulling out a wooden barstool. "Not flying anywhere, just driving. We haven't been out to the Cascades since last summer. We could rent one of those little A-frame cabins, hike during the day, and just completely unplug."

Liam’s expression brightened. He picked up his coffee, taking a thoughtful sip. "A cabin in the woods. A fire pit, a couple bottles of decent wine, and absolutely no dress code."

"Exactly. We can cook dinner together. A fancy steak dinner, but in sweatpants."

"You had me at sweatpants," Liam said, reaching across the counter


Liam slid a steaming ceramic mug across the granite kitchen island. "So, next Friday," he said, leaning against the counter. "Five years."

Maya looked up from her laptop, the morning sunlight catching the frames of her glasses. "Half a decade," she smiled, wrapping her hands around the warm mug. "We need a game plan. We should do something memorable."

"I was thinking about making a reservation at Le Petit Chou downtown. They have a new tasting menu."

Maya winced slightly, a sympathetic grimace. "It’s over two hundred dollars a person, Liam. With the contractor coming to fix the guest room drywall next month, maybe we shouldn't blow our budget on tiny scallops."

"Fair point," Liam conceded, crossing his arms comfortably. "What about a quick weekend trip? We could drive out to the coast."

"I'd love that, but don't you have that massive software deployment on Monday? You'll be stressed the whole Sunday drive back."

Liam sighed, nodding because he knew she was right. "Okay. What’s your pitch?"

Maya closed her laptop, giving him her full attention. "What if we just recreate the night we actually decided to move in together? You know, before we had a mortgage and a house to worry about."

Liam’s eyes lit up, the memory softening his features. "Takeout from El Camino?"

"Exactly," Maya said. "We get a massive platter of al pastor tacos, take them down to the park by the river, and watch the sunset."

"And then," Liam added, catching the vision, "we come back here, finally open that ridiculously expensive bottle of Cabernet my brother got us last year, and fall asleep on the couch watching terrible sci-fi movies."

"It sounds perfect," Maya said, reaching across the island to squeeze his hand.


Maya tapped the screen of her laptop, leaning her elbows against the kitchen island. Across the quartz counter, Liam was expertly dicing a red bell pepper for their Tuesday night stir-fry.

"So, next Friday is the fifteenth," Maya said, looking up. "Five years. We should probably figure out what we’re doing."

Liam scraped the peppers into a glass bowl and wiped his hands on a dish towel. "Five years. Half a decade of you stealing all the hot water." He smiled, leaning against the counter. "Did you have anything in mind? We could try to get a reservation at that new French place downtown."

Maya wrinkled her nose. "I looked it up. It’s a two-hundred-dollar tasting menu, and honestly, after this week, I don't really want to spend three hours sitting in a stuffy dining room in heels."

"Fair enough," Liam agreed. "What about a weekend trip? We could drive up to the mountains. Rent a little cabin with a fireplace."

"I'd love that, but I have that massive project deadline on Monday. I can't really afford to be off the grid all weekend." Maya sighed, shutting her laptop. "Are we boring now? We've lived together for three years and we can't even plan a date."

"We aren't boring, we're just practical," Liam said, reaching across the island to squeeze her hand. "How about a compromise? Friday night, we stay here, but we ban all screens. We buy those expensive ribeyes from the local butcher, a bottle of wine that costs more than twenty bucks, and we cook together. Just us."

Maya’s shoulders relaxed, a genuine smile spreading across her face. "A private steakhouse in our own kitchen. I love it."

"It's a date," Liam said, turning back to the stove. "Now, grab the soy sauce before we starve."


"Can you believe it's been five years next Friday?" Maya asked, tossing a folded pair of socks into the laundry basket.

Sam looked up from his laptop, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Five years. That’s half a decade. We should probably do something a little bigger than our usual Friday night Thai takeout, right?"

Maya sat at the edge of the couch, resting her elbows on her knees. "I was looking at that new French place downtown, but honestly, dropping three hundred dollars on dinner feels irresponsible right now. Especially with the Subaru needing new tires."

"True," Sam agreed, setting his computer on the coffee table. "What if we took a weekend trip? Drive up to the Blue Ridge Mountains, rent a little cabin? We haven't been hiking since last fall."

Maya smiled, though she sighed. "A cabin sounds amazing, but neither of us can take Friday off right now. By the time we drive three hours after work, we'll be completely exhausted."

Sam nodded slowly, tapping his chin. "Okay, let's compromise. What if we do a really high-end cooking night at home on Friday? We can go to that fancy butcher shop on 4th Street, get those dry-aged ribeyes we always stare at, and buy a nice bottle of wine that actually has a cork."

"And we can make fondue for dessert," Maya added, her eyes lighting up. "We still haven't used the fondue set my mom got us for Christmas."

"Perfect. Then Saturday morning, we wake up early and drive out to the state park for a long hike. Best of both worlds."

Maya leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Steak, melted chocolate, and no overpriced restaurant crowds. Five years looks good on us."


Maya wiped down the kitchen counter, pausing to look at the calendar pinned to the fridge. The red circle around Saturday the 14th seemed to pulse in the warm light of their Chicago apartment.

"Liam," she called out over the hum of the dishwasher. "We still haven't decided what we're doing for our five-year."

Liam poked his head out from the living room, a half-folded laundry basket balanced on his hip. "I was just thinking about that. Did you still want to try to get a reservation at Le Bouchon?"

Maya leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. "I looked it up today. It’s a tasting menu this weekend, and it’s basically two hundred dollars a person before drinks. I love you, but I don't know if I love you enough for a five-hundred-dollar dinner."

Liam chuckled, setting the laundry basket on the sofa and walking into the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Fair enough. To be honest, the idea of wearing a suit on a Saturday night sounds exhausting anyway."

"Exactly," Maya agreed, leaning back into him. "But it’s five years. We live together, we share a mortgage now... it's a big milestone. We can't just do our usual takeout and Netflix. We need to do *something* special."

"What if we drive up to Starved Rock?" Liam suggested. "We haven't been hiking since the fall. We can pack a nice picnic—like, the good cheese from the deli and that fancy bottle of wine your sister got us. Then we come back, order our favorite Thai place, and actually eat it at the dining table instead of the couch."

Maya turned her head to kiss his cheek, a genuine smile breaking across her face. "Nature, expensive cheese, and zero dress code? That sounds perfect."


Maya stood at the kitchen island, nursing her coffee while scrolling through the calendar on her phone. "Hey, Ben? The fifteenth is two weeks away. Five years."

Ben looked up from the sink, a soapy coffee mug in his hand. He smiled, setting the mug on the drying rack and wiping his hands on a dish towel. "Half a decade. We should probably do something more than our usual Thai takeout on the couch this time."

"Agreed," Maya said, leaning against the marble counter. "I was looking at that new French place downtown, Le Petit. But it's almost two hundred dollars a person just for the tasting menu."

Ben winced slightly, walking over to join her. "Yeah, that’s a little steep, especially since we’re still trying to save for the guest bathroom renovation. What if we do a weekend trip instead? We could drive up to the mountains, rent a cozy cabin, and just unplug."

Maya considered this, biting her lower lip. "I love the idea of getting out of the city, but taking Friday off is going to be almost impossible with my quarterly reports due."

"That's true," Ben nodded, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Okay, compromise. Let's make an event out of staying in. We can cook something incredibly elaborate together on Saturday. Like, make fresh pasta from scratch, open that expensive bottle of Barolo we brought back from Napa, and maybe spend the afternoon at the botanical garden."

Maya’s face lit up. "Wait, I actually really love that. We haven't used the pasta maker since Christmas. And no rushing in traffic to make a dinner reservation."

"Exactly," Ben said, kissing her temple. "I'll handle finding a great recipe and doing the grocery shopping if you buy the garden tickets."

"Deal," she smiled, locking her phone screen. It wasn't a flashy European vacation, but as she looked around the quiet home they had built together, a shared afternoon and a messy kitchen felt like the absolute perfect way to celebrate five years.


Maya leaned against the kitchen island, watching Liam chop an onion. The sizzle of olive oil filled their small, shared bungalow in Portland.

"So," she said, stealing a slice of bell pepper from the cutting board. "Next weekend. Five years."

Liam scraped the onions into the pan with the side of his knife. "I haven't forgotten. Half a decade since that terrible blind date." He wiped his hands on a dish towel and turned to her. "I was thinking we could finally do the tasting menu at Le Pigeon. Or maybe drive out to the coast and get an Airbnb?"

Maya smiled, touched by the grand ideas, but immediately did the mental math. "A weekend away sounds amazing, but with the property tax bill we just paid, maybe we should scale back?"

Liam let out a slow breath, nodding. "Yeah, you're right. The roof repairs took a bite out of the savings. But I still want to do something that isn't just ordering our usual Thai food and watching Netflix."

"Agreed." Maya tapped her fingers on the granite counter, thinking. "What if we recreate the terrible blind date, but make it actually good?"

Liam raised an eyebrow. "You want to go back to that loud bowling alley?"

"No, I want us to get dressed up—like, really dressed up—and make fancy cocktails here. Then we can go to the park down the street, have a sunset picnic with the expensive cheeses we never buy, and actually talk without our phones. A zero-distraction evening."

Liam’s shoulders relaxed into a warm smile. "Fancy cheese, our own cocktails, and you in that green dress?"

"Exactly," Maya said, stepping closer to wrap her arms around his waist.

"It’s a date," Liam said, kissing her forehead. "A much better one."


Morning sunlight streamed through the blinds of their Chicago apartment, catching the dust motes dancing above the coffee table. Sam sat on the sofa, scrolling through their shared budget spreadsheet on his laptop, while Maya sat cross-legged on the rug, carefully repotting a sprawling pothos plant.

"Hey," Sam said, tapping the screen. "Do you realize the twelfth is exactly two weeks away?"

Maya paused, a handful of potting soil suspended in mid-air. "Five years. Wow. I almost forgot with the lease renewal coming up." She wiped her hands on a rag. "We should probably do something slightly more elevated than our usual Friday night takeout."

"Agreed," Sam said, closing the laptop. "Half a decade is a big deal. We could book that cabin in Wisconsin we’ve been talking about? Take a long weekend away."

Maya smiled, though her eyes flicked toward the laptop. "I'd love that, but between your car repair last month and us trying to build up the house fund, a whole trip might stress me out right now."

"Fair point," Sam nodded, leaning forward. "What if we compromise? A staycation weekend, but we actually treat it like a real vacation. No chores, no errands, no looking at spreadsheets."

"And a really good dinner," Maya added, her eyes brightening. "What if we recreate our first date, but upgraded? Instead of the taco truck in the freezing cold, we finally get a reservation at that upscale Oaxacan place downtown."

"Perfect," Sam laughed. "And instead of sharing a single hot chocolate on the L train, we'll actually spring for an Uber and craft cocktails."

Maya reached up to squeeze his knee, leaving a tiny smudge of dirt on his jeans. "It’s a plan. Five years down, and we've finally made it past the taco truck."


Maya nudged the refrigerator door shut with her hip, balancing a jar of marinara sauce and a plastic clamshell of baby spinach. "Are you okay with penne? I think it's the last box of pasta we have."

Liam looked up from sorting the mail on the kitchen island. "Penne is fine. You want me to chop the onion?"

"Please. And grab that half a bell pepper that's getting wrinkly in the crisper drawer."

It was Wednesday night, and their shared evening routine moved with a familiar, tired efficiency. Liam took the vegetables to the cutting board, the rhythmic *thwack* of his chef’s knife filling their small apartment kitchen. Maya filled the stainless-steel pot with water, turned the electric burner to high, and leaned against the counter, watching him scrape the diced onions into a skillet.

"How was the commute?" Liam asked. A sharp sizzle rose as the onions hit the hot olive oil.

"Brutal. Red Line was delayed twenty minutes," Maya sighed, pulling two mismatched bowls from the overhead cabinet. "I listened to half a podcast just standing on the platform. Did you ever call the leasing office about the shower drain?"

"Yeah, maintenance is supposed to come by tomorrow morning." Liam dumped the jar of sauce into the skillet, then stirred in the spinach, watching the green leaves wilt into the bubbling red mixture.

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting across from each other at their small wooden dining table. The pasta wasn't anything culinary—just standard weeknight survival food—but the sauce was steaming and the Parmesan was freshly grated.

Liam handed Maya a paper napkin. She twirled a forkful of penne, blowing on it gently. "Actually, this hits the spot," she said.

"Not bad for throwing whatever we had left into a pan," he agreed, reaching across the table to steal a stray noodle from her bowl. Maya playfully swatted his hand away, and the apartment settled into a comfortable, chewing silence.


The refrigerator door stood open, casting a pale yellow light across the cramped apartment kitchen. Maya nudged a half-empty jar of salsa aside. "We have half a zucchini, a bell pepper that's seen better days, and the leftover chicken."

Liam leaned over her shoulder, his coat smelling faintly of the crisp winter air outside. "Stir-fry?" he suggested, dropping his keys into the ceramic bowl on the counter. "I can make that quick peanut sauce."

"Perfect," Maya said. She pulled the vegetables from the crisper drawer while Liam took off his jacket and grabbed the wooden cutting board.

They moved around each other in the familiar, practiced choreography of a shared galley kitchen. Maya washed and diced the vegetables, sliding the pieces into a bowl, while Liam whisked peanut butter, soy sauce, and a splash of rice vinegar in a chipped coffee mug.

"How was the commute?" Maya asked, reaching up to turn on the stove vent.

"Brutal. Red Line was delayed again," Liam sighed, scraping the chopped chicken into the sizzling oil. "Did you finish the quarterly report?"

"Just hit send before you walked in."

Ten minutes later, they were sitting across from each other at the small IKEA dining table. Steam rose from two mismatched bowls of rice and vegetables. Liam grabbed two paper napkins and handed Maya a pair of chopsticks.

She took a bite. "This sauce is actually really good. A little heavy on the ginger, maybe."

"I didn't measure," Liam admitted with a shrug. "Hey, did the super ever text you back about the radiator in the bedroom?"

"No. I'll call him tomorrow on my lunch break." Maya nudged a piece of zucchini with her chopstick. "If he ignores me, I’m deducting space heater costs from next month's rent."

Liam chuckled around a mouthful of rice. "Good luck with that. I’ll load the dishwasher if you wipe down the stove."

"Deal."


The apartment still held the faint, stuffy warmth of a Tuesday afternoon when Liam opened the front door. He dropped his keys into the ceramic bowl by the entrance with a familiar clatter. Maya was already in the kitchen, her work laptop pushed to the far edge of the island, staring thoughtfully into the open refrigerator.

"Hey," Liam said, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her shoulder. "What's the verdict?"

"I'm thinking a stir-fry," Maya replied, pulling out a plastic container of leftover rice and a half-wilted red bell pepper. "We need to use the chicken before it goes bad, and I really don't have the energy for anything that requires preheating the oven."

"Works for me. I'll prep the veggies." Liam took off his jacket, draped it over a barstool, and moved to the sink to wash his hands. He grabbed a cutting board and his favorite chef’s knife, efficiently dicing the pepper and a yellow onion while Maya sliced the chicken breasts into thin strips.

They worked in a comfortable, practiced rhythm. The loud sizzle of sesame oil hitting the hot wok drowned out the low murmur of the evening news playing on the living room television. Maya tossed the chicken, adding a splash of soy sauce and a spoonful of minced garlic from a glass jar.

"Did they finally approve your PTO?" Liam asked, scraping his diced vegetables into the pan alongside the meat.

"Yeah, this afternoon. HR took forever," Maya said, handing him the wooden spoon to keep things moving while she popped the leftover rice into the microwave.

Fifteen minutes later, they sat across from each other at their small wooden dining table. Liam poured two glasses of tap water over ice. They ate in companionable silence, passing a bottle of sriracha back and forth, slowly shedding the residual stress of the workday with every bite.


The hiss of chopped onions hitting the hot skillet momentarily drowned out the low hum of a podcast playing from Sam’s phone. Maya nudged him out of the way with her hip to reach the garlic press.

"Excuse me," she murmured, focused on peeling the papery skin from a plump clove.

"All yours," Sam said, shifting over to check the boiling water. He dropped a handful of spaghetti into the pot, adjusting the burner dial so it wouldn't boil over. "Did you want to use up the rest of those cherry tomatoes before they go bad?"

"Yeah, good idea. Throw them in the salad bowl," Maya replied, scraping the minced garlic into the pan. The savory aroma immediately filled their small apartment kitchen. She stirred in a jar of store-bought marinara, doctoring it with a heavy pinch of red pepper flakes the way they both liked.

Sam rinsed the tomatoes, tossed them in with a bagged spring mix, and set the table with two mismatched ceramic plates and their everyday silverware. It was Tuesday, and the mild exhaustion of the workday softened their movements into a familiar, comfortable routine.

Ten minutes later, they sat across from each other at their small wooden dining table. Sam twirled a forkful of pasta, blowing on it lightly.

"How was the commute?" Maya asked, pouring a splash of balsamic dressing over her greens.

"Not terrible. Traffic on I-95 wasn't completely stopped for once," Sam said, taking a bite. "This is good. You added extra garlic, didn't you?"

"Obviously," Maya smiled, reaching across the table to steal a rogue cucumber slice from his salad. "Are we still watching that documentary tonight?"

"Only if I don't fall asleep on the couch," Sam laughed, pouring them both glasses of ice water.


Maya dropped her canvas tote on the entryway bench and nudged her sneakers off. From the kitchen, the rhythmic thwack of a knife against a wooden cutting board signaled Liam was already home.

"Hey," she called out, walking in to find him dicing a red bell pepper. A half-empty bag of jasmine rice sat on the laminate counter.

"Hey yourself. How was the commute?" Liam asked, scraping the pepper into a glass bowl with the side of his knife.

"Brutal. The interstate was backed up for miles." She walked over and leaned against the counter. "What’s the plan? Stir-fry?"

"Yeah, trying to use up the broccoli before it turns yellow. Can you start the rice?"

Maya washed her hands and measured a cup of rice into the rice cooker, rinsing it under the tap until the water ran clear. "Did we decide on soy sauce or teriyaki?" she asked, opening the fridge to scan the crowded condiment shelf.

"Let's just do soy, a little sesame oil, and that chili crisp," Liam said, tossing cubed chicken breast into a hot skillet. It hissed immediately, filling the small apartment with the comforting smell of searing meat.

Ten minutes later, they were sitting across from each other at their small IKEA dining table. Maya pushed a piece of broccoli around her bowl, letting it soak up the dark, savory sauce.

"Oh, before I forget," Liam said, pointing his fork at her, "the property manager emailed about the water shut-off on Thursday morning. We need to fill the Brita pitcher before bed Wednesday."

"Good to know," Maya murmured through a mouthful of rice. She took a sip of her sparkling water. "This is really good, by the way. I'll take care of the dishes tonight."

Liam smiled, his shoulders dropping as he relaxed into his chair. "Deal."


The hum of the microwave filled the cramped apartment kitchen as Maya leaned against the counter, watching the timer count down. Beside her, Liam was methodically chopping a head of broccoli, nudging the green florets into a neat pile on the cutting board.

"Do we have any of that sesame oil left?" he asked, wiping a stray piece of broccoli off the edge with his thumb.

Maya opened the narrow pantry. "Yeah, but it’s right at the bottom. I think there’s enough for tonight." She pulled out the small bottle and set it next to the stove. "I'll start the chicken if you want to whisk the sauce."

It was a typical Tuesday night routine. They moved around each other in the small space with a practiced, casual choreography. Liam reached over Maya to grab the wok, his arm brushing her shoulder, while she tore open a package of diced chicken breasts.

"How was the commute?" Liam asked, mixing soy sauce, garlic powder, and the dregs of the sesame oil in a small glass bowl.

"Terrible. The red line was delayed again," Maya sighed, turning on the burner. The oil in the pan began to pop and sizzle as she dropped the meat in. "I ended up walking the last ten blocks. How was the office?"

"Quiet. Half the team is at that conference in Denver."

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting on their mismatched living room couch, bowls of steaming rice, chicken, and broccoli balanced on their laps. The wooden coffee table served as their makeshift dining table, holding two glasses of ice water and a paper napkin dispenser.

Liam clicked the TV remote, scrolling past a row of sitcoms before settling on the trivia show they watched every evening. "Not bad," he mumbled around a mouthful of rice.

Maya smiled, leaning back against the cushions and resting her bare feet on the edge of the coffee table. "Next time, extra garlic. But yeah, not bad."


Liam stood at the kitchen island, rhythmically chopping a red bell pepper. The steady *thwack, thwack* of the chef's knife was the only sound in the apartment until Maya walked in, kicking off her work flats by the door.

"Hey," she said, leaning over his shoulder to kiss his cheek. "Smells like garlic already."

"Just started the pan," Liam said, scraping the diced peppers into a glass bowl. "Did you remember the soy sauce?"

Maya sighed in relief, pulling a small bottle from her canvas tote bag. "Barely. I had to run into the bodega by the station. The red line was delayed again." She set the bottle on the counter and reached past him to grab a saucepan for the rice.

They moved around each other with the practiced choreography of a couple who had shared the narrow galley kitchen for two years. Liam tossed diced chicken into the hot skillet, the loud sizzle instantly filling the room, while Maya measured out a cup of jasmine rice and rinsed it under the faucet.

"Do we want to finish that true-crime documentary tonight, or just watch something dumb?" Maya asked, pulling two mismatched bowls from the upper cabinet.

"Something dumb," Liam voted without hesitation, stirring the chicken with a wooden spoon. "My brain is completely fried from spreadsheets."

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting side-by-side on the sofa, bowls of makeshift chicken teriyaki balanced on their laps. The TV glowed with the familiar opening credits of a sitcom rerun. Maya handed Liam a paper napkin, and he passed her the bottle of sriracha in return.

"Chicken's good," she murmured before taking another bite.

"Thanks," he said, adjusting his posture against the cushions. "Maybe a little salty, but it works."

They settled into the comfortable, easy silence of a Tuesday night, their forks quietly clinking against the ceramic.


Maya nudged the refrigerator door shut with her hip, a cluster of slightly wilted scallions clutched in her hand. "Are we doing the leftover chicken tonight, or just tofu?" she called out over the sound of running water.

Liam leaned over the sink, rinsing a cup of jasmine rice. "Let's finish the chicken. It’s been in that Tupperware since Sunday." He shook the fine-mesh strainer, water pattering against the stainless steel basin, before transferring the rice to their small countertop cooker and pressing the single button down.

They moved around the narrow galley kitchen in a practiced, unspoken choreography. Maya stood at the wooden cutting board, her knife rhythmically thumping as she sliced bell peppers, zucchini, and the scallions. Beside her, Liam took over the stovetop, heating a glug of sesame oil in their heavy, battered wok.

"Did you remember to call the landlord about the bathroom window?" Liam asked, tossing the diced chicken into the pan. It sizzled loudly, sending up a puff of savory, garlic-laced steam.

"Left a voicemail during my lunch break," Maya replied, sweeping the chopped vegetables into a bowl. She slid them across the counter to him, then reached into the upper cabinet for two ceramic bowls and water glasses. "He probably won't call back until Thursday."

Once the stir-fry was done, they didn't bother clearing the mail off the dining table. Instead, they sat side-by-side at the small kitchen island. Liam portioned out the steaming rice, and Maya spooned the chicken and vegetables over the top, drizzling a bit of sriracha onto hers.

They ate in a comfortable, tired silence, the only sounds the clinking of forks against ceramic and the faint hum of the refrigerator. Halfway through his meal, Liam pointed his fork at the wok. "This is good. Better than takeout."

Maya smiled, stealing a piece of pepper from the top of his bowl. "And cheaper, too. Your turn to do the dishes."


Liam nudged the heat down on the stove, stirring the bubbling rigatoni so it wouldn't stick. Beside him, Maya was tearing handfuls of baby spinach into a plastic colander.

"Did you get a chance to call the landlord about the shower pressure?" she asked, tossing a bruised leaf into the countertop compost bin.

"Left a voicemail," Liam said. He tapped the wooden spoon on the pot's rim. "I'm tossing the leftover chicken sausage in now. Is half a jar of marinara enough?"

"Make it the whole jar. I didn't get to take a real lunch today." Maya rinsed the spinach, shaking the colander over the stainless-steel sink. She dried her hands on her jeans and moved to the small two-seater table by the window. She swept a stack of junk mail, a grocery circular, and an electric bill into a neat pile to make room for their faded cloth placemats.

Once the pasta was al dente, Liam drained it and folded in the spinach, sausage, and sauce, letting the residual heat wilt the greens. He carried the heavy pot directly to the table, resting it on a cork trivet, while Maya grabbed two shallow bowls, forks, and a couple of paper napkins.

"Oh, wait, cheese," Maya muttered. She pivoted back to the fridge, retrieving a plastic tub of grated parmesan.

They sat across from each other, the ambient hum of the refrigerator filling the quiet apartment. Liam scooped a generous portion into Maya’s bowl, then filled his own.

"Smells good," Maya said, blowing on a steaming noodle.

"It's just the emergency pantry stash," Liam


The hum of the refrigerator provided a steady soundtrack to Tuesday evening as Maya and Ben navigated their narrow galley kitchen.

"Are we doing the penne or the leftover stir-fry?" Ben asked, rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt and tossing his keys onto the counter.

"Let's do the penne before the spinach goes bad," Maya said. She pulled a large stainless-steel pot from the lower cabinet and filled it at the sink.

Ben nodded, opening the fridge to retrieve the half-empty bag of baby spinach, a jar of sun-dried tomatoes, and a wedge of parmesan. "I'll mince the garlic. How was your afternoon meeting?"

"Long," Maya sighed, turning the burner dial until it clicked and ignited with a blue *whoosh*. "Sarah spent twenty minutes arguing about the new software rollout. But it's over now."

They fell into a familiar, quiet rhythm. Ben’s knife tapped rhythmically against the wooden cutting board as he diced the garlic, while Maya rummaged in the pantry for the pasta. Once the water reached a rolling boil, she dumped the dry penne in, stirring it lazily with a wooden spoon.

Ten minutes later, Ben was tossing the drained pasta with olive oil, garlic, tomatoes, and the wilting spinach in a large skillet. Maya set two mismatched ceramic bowls, paper napkins, and everyday silverware on the small dining table in the corner of their living room.

They sat down together, the warm steam rising between them, carrying the sharp, savory scent of toasted garlic. Ben grated a generous mound of cheese over both bowls.

"Did you remember to pay the electric bill?" he asked, twirling a forkful of pasta.

"Scheduled it for tomorrow," Maya replied, blowing on her food before taking a bite. "This is actually really good for a Tuesday."

Ben smiled, reaching for his water glass. "Teamwork."


The hum of the exhaust fan filled the small galley kitchen as Maya dumped a pile of chopped broccoli into the hot wok. Next to her, Liam leaned against the counter, tearing open a package of pre-cooked chicken breast.

"Did you want the teriyaki sauce tonight, or just soy sauce and garlic?" Liam asked, tossing the plastic packaging into the recycling bin.

Maya nudged a stray floret into the pan with her wooden spoon. "Let's just do soy sauce and a little sesame oil. We're almost out of teriyaki anyway, and I don't want it to be too sweet."

They moved around each other with the practiced choreography of a couple who had shared the tight space for two years. Liam opened the fridge, grabbing the condiments and a bottle of sriracha. While Maya stirred the sizzling vegetables, he retrieved two mismatched ceramic bowls from the cabinet and grabbed forks from the drawer.

"Rice should be done," Liam said, pressing the release button on the small rice cooker. A cloud of steam billowed up, briefly fogging his glasses. He spooned a generous mound of jasmine rice into each bowl.

Maya tipped the heavy wok, sliding the steaming chicken and broccoli over the rice. "Perfect timing."

They carried their dinner to the small round table near the living room window, bypassing the couch by silent, mutual agreement. Outside, the evening commuter traffic formed a steady ribbon of red taillights.

Liam squeezed a zigzag of sriracha over his bowl. "How was the quarterly meeting?" he asked, mixing the hot sauce into his rice.

"Long," Maya sighed, blowing on a piece of chicken. "But they finally approved the new software budget." She took a bite, nodding at the seasoning. "We should probably start that new nature documentary tonight."

"Sounds like a plan," Liam agreed, reaching across the table for his water glass.


The hum of the exhaust fan filled the small galley kitchen as Maya leaned against the counter, scrolling through a playlist on her phone.

"Garlic bread or just the salad?" she asked, setting her phone down.

Sam looked up from the cutting board, where he was meticulously slicing cherry tomatoes in half. "Let's just do the salad. The bread is getting pretty stale anyway, and it's already past seven."

"Salad it is," Maya agreed. She grabbed a pair of kitchen shears from the drawer, snipped open a plastic bag of pre-washed spring mix, and dumped it into a large wooden bowl. Sam used the flat edge of his knife to scrape the tomatoes on top, followed by a handful of croutons.

On the stove, the water finally hit a rolling boil. Maya carefully tipped in half a box of spaghetti, pushing the rigid noodles down with a wooden spoon as they softened. Sam moved to the sink to rinse the cutting board, the sleeves of his work shirt rolled up to his elbows.

"How was the afternoon marketing meeting?" he asked over the sound of running water.

"Endless. But I think they're finally approving the budget," Maya said, lowering the heat under the bubbling jarred marinara sauce she had doctored with a pinch of red pepper flakes.

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting across from each other at the small two-seater dining table. The meal was simple: steaming bowls of pasta and the shared salad dressed in a quick vinaigrette. Sam poured two glasses of ice water from the fridge pitcher, sliding one toward her.

Maya twirled a forkful of spaghetti, blowing on it gently. "Perfect sauce-to-pasta ratio tonight," she noted.

Sam smiled, reaching for the pepper grinder. "I try. You want to pick the show tonight, or should I?"


The sharp thwack of Maya’s knife against the bamboo cutting board cut through the low hum of the apartment's refrigerator. She was slicing half a leftover cucumber to bulk up the bagged spring mix they’d bought on Sunday. A few feet away, Liam nudged the burner dial to high, waiting for the salted water to boil.

"Did you remember to text the landlord about the bathroom sink?" Liam asked, leaning against the laminate counter with a jar of store-bought marinara sauce in his hand.

"I emailed him on my lunch break," Maya said, scraping the cucumber rounds into a glass bowl. "He said maintenance will come look at it Thursday."

"Nice." Liam twisted the lid off the sauce, the vacuum seal popping with a satisfying click. He poured it into a smaller saucepan to simmer. Once the large pot began to roil, he grabbed a handful of dry spaghetti, snapped it in half—a habit Maya still lightly judged but no longer commented on—and dropped it into the water.

They moved around each other in the narrow galley kitchen with the easy choreography of three years of cohabitation. Maya whisked together a quick dressing of olive oil and balsamic vinegar, while Liam stirred the noodles with a wooden spoon to keep them from sticking.

Fifteen minutes later, they sat across from each other at the small, slightly wobbly IKEA table in the corner of their living room. Steam rose from their mismatched ceramic bowls.

"Pass the parmesan?" Maya asked, holding out her hand.

Liam nudged the green plastic shaker across the table. "Rough day at the clinic?" he asked, twirling a forkful of pasta.

"Not too bad, just long," Maya sighed, showering her spaghetti in cheese. "Let's just eat and watch one episode of that new documentary before bed."

"Sounds perfect," Liam said.


The hum of the exhaust fan filled the small galley kitchen as Elena leaned against the counter, scrolling through a final work email on her phone. Beside her, David scraped a pile of diced red bell peppers and broccoli from the cutting board into the sizzling wok.

"Did you remember to start the rice?" he asked, nudging the heat down on the stove.

"Yeah, it’s got about five minutes left," Elena replied. She locked her screen, slipped the phone into her pocket, and reached into the overhead cabinet for two heavy ceramic bowls. "Smells good. Did you use the last of the sesame oil?"

"Just about. We’ll need to add it to the grocery list." David tossed the chicken and vegetables with a wooden spoon. "Can you grab the soy sauce from the fridge door?"

Elena retrieved the bottle, handing it over before pulling open the silverware drawer. She carried the bowls and utensils to the small two-seater table by the living room window, sweeping aside a stack of unopened mail to make room. It was their typical Tuesday routine.

Once the rice cooker clicked, Elena scooped the steaming jasmine rice into the bowls while David portioned out the stir-fry. They sat down together, the clinking of forks a comforting, familiar sound.

"How was the commute?" David asked, blowing on a piece of broccoli.

"Not awful," Elena said, taking a bite. "Traffic on I-95 was actually moving for once. Oh, this is perfectly spicy, by the way. Good job."

David smiled, reaching across the table for his water glass. "Thanks. I threw in an extra pinch of red pepper flakes. Figured we needed a little kick today."

They continued eating in a comfortable silence, watching the streetlights outside flicker on as the evening settled over the apartment.


The clatter of a heavy skillet hitting the stovetop cut through the low hum of the evening news. Sarah nudged a bag of pre-washed spinach across the speckled granite counter. "Are we throwing this in with the pasta, or making a side salad?"

Mark looked up from dicing a yellow onion, wiping a stray tear from his cheek with the back of his wrist. "Let’s just wilt it into the sauce. Less cleanup."

"Deal," Sarah said, reaching past him to grab the olive oil. Their apartment kitchen was a tight galley, narrow enough that they had to pivot and shift their hips to pass each other. It was a well-practiced dance after two years of sharing the lease.

While Mark browned the ground turkey, Sarah set a pot of salted water to boil and pulled two ceramic bowls from the cabinet. She grabbed a half-empty jar of marinara from the fridge, shaking it lightly to gauge the weight. "This should be just enough," she murmured, pouring the cold red sauce over the sizzling meat and onions.

"Smells good," Mark said, stepping back to let her stir. "How was that afternoon budget meeting?"

"Endless. Dave talked for twenty minutes about synergy," Sarah groaned, dropping a fistful of linguine into the boiling water. "I just zoned out and thought about eating this exact bowl of carbs."

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting at the small, wobbly table near the window, having pushed a pile of junk mail aside to make room. There were no placemats or napkins—just two steaming bowls of pasta, a shared bottle of hot sauce, and the muffled sound of passing traffic outside.

Mark twirled a forkful of noodles, blowing on it


Mark opened the fridge, the cool light illuminating a sparse collection of Tupperware and condiments. "Are we thinking chicken or pasta?" he called out to Sarah, who was shrugging out of her work blazer in the hallway.

"Pasta," she replied, walking into the kitchen and turning on the faucet to wash her hands. "I don't have the patience to wait for chicken to bake tonight."

"Spaghetti it is." Mark pulled a jar of marinara and a half-empty bag of baby spinach from the crisper drawer. He filled their dented aluminum pot with water and set it on the stove, clicking the burner to high.

Sarah grabbed a cutting board and the last bulb of garlic. "How was the commute?" she asked, expertly crushing a clove with the flat of her chef’s knife.

"Not bad. Caught the express train," Mark said. He leaned against the counter, opening a can of sparkling water. "Did you finally get that budget report approved?"

"Mostly. Greg had revisions, as usual." She scraped the minced garlic into a small skillet, drizzling olive oil over it. The kitchen quickly filled with the sharp, savory sizzle of frying garlic.

When the water boiled, Mark dropped in a handful of noodles, gently stirring them with a wooden spoon. Ten minutes later, he drained them in the sink—steam billowing up to fog the dark windowpane—and tossed the pasta back into the pot with Sarah's garlic, the jarred sauce, and the wilting spinach.

They didn't bother setting the dining table. Instead, Sarah carried two steaming bowls to the living room while Mark followed with forks and paper napkins. They sat on the sofa, knees almost touching, as a muted sitcom played on the television.

"Pass the pepper?" Sarah asked.

Mark handed her the shaker, then twirled a forkful of spaghetti. "Good?"

She blew on her food, took a bite, and sighed. "Exactly what I needed."


The apartment still held the faint, stale warmth of a closed room when Liam walked into the kitchen. He opened the fridge, staring tiredly at the bottom shelf. "We have half a zucchini, some slightly wilted spinach, and eggs," he called out.

Maya walked in, tossing her lanyard and keys onto the counter. She leaned against the doorframe, kicking off her sneakers. "Pasta it is. I'm not doing a sad fridge-cleanout frittata on a Tuesday."

"Spaghetti?" Liam asked, already reaching for the pantry handle.

"Yeah, with that spicy jarred marinara." Maya moved past him to grab the zucchini. "I’ll chop this up to make us feel like responsible adults. You get the water boiling."

They navigated the small galley kitchen with the casual, practiced choreography of a couple who had shared it for three years. Liam filled the dented aluminum pot, turning the gas burner dial until it clicked and flared blue. Maya rinsed the zucchini, the rhythmic *thwack-thwack* of her chef's knife against the bamboo board grounding the quiet apartment.

"Did the property manager email you back about the living room window?" Liam asked, twisting the stubborn lid off the sauce.

"No," Maya sighed, scraping the green half-moons into an oiled sauté pan. "I'll just call them tomorrow on my lunch break."

Fifteen minutes later, the kitchen smelled heavily of garlic and simmering tomatoes. Liam drained the pasta in the sink, a thick cloud of steam fogging the nearest window, while Maya folded the spaghetti into the hot sauce.

They ate at the small drop-leaf table by the wall, knees occasionally bumping. Maya twirled a forkful of noodles, blowing on it gently. The TV remained off, the only sound the clink of stainless steel against ceramic and the low hum of the refrigerator. It was an entirely unremarkable evening, but as Liam passed her a paper napkin, it felt exactly like home.


Maya stared into the open refrigerator, the harsh bulb illuminating a half-empty jar of salsa and a plastic clamshell of spinach. "The spinach is going to wilt by tomorrow," she called over her shoulder.

Liam walked into the kitchen, tossing his mail onto the counter and rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt. He peered over her shoulder. "Is there any of that spicy sausage left from Sunday?"

"Two links."

"Perfect. Penne with sausage and spinach?" he asked, already pulling the heavy wooden cutting board from its slot next to the oven.

They fell into their familiar weekday rhythm. Maya filled the stainless-steel pot with tap water, setting it on the front burner before rummaging in the pantry for the pasta. Beside her, Liam peeled a yellow onion, the papery skin shedding onto the speckled quartz counter.

"How was the staff meeting?" Liam asked, dicing the onion with practiced, if slightly uneven, chops.

"Endless," Maya sighed, leaning against the counter as she waited for the water to boil. "Sarah brought up the software migration again. We spent forty minutes talking about drop-down menus."

Liam chuckled, scraping the onions into the heated skillet. It hissed instantly, filling the small apartment with the savory scent of olive oil and sautéing alliums. Maya took over the skillet with a wooden spoon, stirring in a pinch of salt while Liam sliced the sausage. They navigated the narrow space between the sink and the stove effortlessly, a quiet choreography honed over two years of living together.

Twenty minutes later, they sat across from each other at their small dining table. Liam scooped generous portions of the pasta into shallow bowls, while Maya handed him a paper towel to use as a napkin.

"Actually really good," Maya said around her first bite, reaching for the grated parmesan.

"Can't go wrong with the classics," Liam agreed, tapping his fork against the rim of his bowl. "So, your turn to pick a show tonight?"


The hum of the exhaust fan filled the small apartment kitchen as Maya opened the fridge, staring thoughtfully into the crisper drawer. "We have half a red bell pepper, some wilting spinach, and chicken," she called over her shoulder.

Liam dropped his work bag by the front door and walked in, nudging her hip gently with his own to reach the sink. "Stir-fry?" he suggested, rolling up his sleeves and washing his hands. "I can make the rice."

"Stir-fry it is," Maya agreed, pulling the ingredients onto the laminate counter. She handed him the rice cooker pot. "Can you do two cups? I always mess up the water ratio."

"I got it." Liam measured out the jasmine rice, rinsing it until the cloudy water ran clear. Beside him, Maya fell into a familiar rhythm, her knife sharply tapping against the wooden cutting board as she diced the pepper and trimmed the chicken breasts.

"How was the commute?" she asked, sliding the chicken into a hot, oiled skillet. It sizzled loudly, filling the room with the smell of garlic.

"Not bad. The train was actually running on time," Liam replied. He opened a cabinet, rummaging for the soy sauce and sesame oil to whisk together a quick sauce. "Did you hear back from the leasing office about the bathroom faucet?"

"They said maintenance will come by tomorrow afternoon," Maya said, tossing the spinach into the pan to let it wilt.

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting across from each other at the small, two-seater IKEA table pushed against the living room wall. Liam distributed the steaming rice into two bowls while Maya spooned the stir-fry over the top.

He took a bite, reaching for the Sriracha bottle. "Perfect."

Maya smiled, exhausted but relaxed. "Your turn to do the dishes."