Rain lashed against the windows of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. It was the four-year anniversary of their first date, and rather than braving the downtown restaurant scene, Maya and Liam had mutually agreed on sweatpants and homemade pasta.

Liam stood at the stove, his sleeves rolled up as he carefully folded fresh spinach into the simmering cream sauce. "Did you find the corkscrew?" he asked over his shoulder, tapping his wooden spoon against the edge of the cast-iron skillet.

"Found it, and the good glasses," Maya replied. She nudged his hip with hers as she squeezed past him to reach the island counter. She deftly uncorked the bottle of Cabernet they’d been saving since a road trip last summer. Pouring two generous glasses, she handed one to Liam. "Happy four years, babe."

He turned, lowering the heat on the stove, and clinked his glass gently against hers. "Happy four years. I’m so glad we decided to stay in. The traffic on I-90 looked miserable."

"Exactly," Maya smiled, taking a sip. She walked over to the living room to dim the overhead lights and cue up a quiet acoustic playlist on the smart speaker. She spent a moment fluffing the pillows and straightening the throw blankets on the couch, making sure everything was perfectly cozy for their post-dinner movie marathon.

When she returned to the kitchen, Liam was already plating the fettuccine. He added a sprig of fresh basil to each bowl with a theatrical flourish, making her laugh. They carried their dinners to the small dining table by the window. Sitting across from him, watching the city lights blur through the rain-streaked glass, Maya realized she didn't need grand, expensive gestures. The quiet, comfortable rhythm of their shared life was exactly what they were there to celebrate.


Rain lashed against the windows of their third-floor Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Maya leaned over the island counter, carefully slicing a fresh baguette while a jazz playlist hummed softly from the living room speaker. It was exactly four years since their notoriously clumsy first date, and neither had any desire to brave the Friday night downtown crowds to celebrate.

The front door clicked open, and Liam backed into the hallway, shaking a dripping umbrella. "I have secured the goods," he announced, holding up a damp paper bag and a bottle of Pinot Noir.

"You're a hero," Maya laughed, wiping her hands on a dish towel and crossing the room to meet him. She took the wine while Liam wrestled out of his soaked jacket.

"The guy at the bodega asked if we were throwing a party," Liam said, unpacking two pints of premium pistachio gelato from the bag. "I told him yes, an exclusive VIP event. Sweatpants are strictly mandatory."

Maya smiled, pressing the corkscrew into the wine bottle. "Did you tell him we're celebrating four years of me stealing your hoodies?"

"I left that part out. I didn't want to ruin my rugged image." Liam washed his hands and stepped in beside her to check on the pasta water boiling on the stove. He bumped his shoulder gently against hers, his tone softening. "Seriously, though. Happy anniversary, Maya."

"Happy anniversary," she murmured, leaning into his warmth.

They spent the next twenty minutes moving in an easy, familiar rhythm—Liam tossing the linguine in his signature spicy tomato sauce, Maya pouring the drinks and setting the small dining table. There were no grand romantic gestures or expensive reservations, just a quiet, shared sanctuary that felt perfectly like home.


Julian kicked the apartment door shut with his heel, balancing a brown paper grocery bag in one arm and his briefcase in the other.

"I'm back," he called out, setting the damp bag on the granite kitchen island.

Maya emerged from the hallway, stretching her arms over her head. She had just closed her work laptop for the day, trading her office sweater for an oversized college t-shirt. "Perfect timing," she smiled. She walked over, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder. "Happy four years, babe."

Julian turned, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Happy four years. I got the bronze-die pasta, the expensive marinara, and that Cabernet we had at Thanksgiving."

"You spoil me," Maya laughed, pulling a corkscrew from the drawer. While she worked on opening the wine, Julian began unpacking the groceries and pulling a cutting board from the rack.

They had briefly debated going out to a fancy downtown restaurant, but a rainy Tuesday in Seattle didn't inspire either of them to dress up and fight traffic. Instead, they had agreed on their favorite shared tradition: sweatpants, a collaborative dinner, and a movie on their hand-me-down velvet couch.

Maya poured two glasses, sliding one across the counter to him. "Did you remember the garlic bread?"

Julian paused, a handful of fresh basil hovering over the cutting board. He looked at her, his eyes widening in feigned panic. "I knew I forgot something."

"Julian!" Maya sighed, though she was already smiling. She walked over to the pantry. "It's fine. I bought a baguette yesterday just in case. I'll make the butter spread."

He exhaled a dramatic sigh of relief and clinked his glass against hers. As the rain battered the living room window, they stood shoulder to shoulder in the warm kitchen, perfectly content in the quiet life they had built together.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, making the prospect of going out increasingly unappealing. Maya leaned over the kitchen island, scrolling aimlessly through restaurant reservation apps on her phone.

"So, the Italian place downtown has an eight o'clock," she called out, though her voice lacked enthusiasm. "Or we could try that new tapas bar, but it’s a thirty-minute drive."

Liam walked in from the hallway, dropping his wet raincoat onto a hook. He walked over and gently nudged her shoulder with his own. "Honestly? Tapas sounds exhausting right now. Happy four years, by the way."

She turned, smiling, and looped her arms loosely around his waist. "Happy four years. And I agree. The idea of putting on heels in this weather makes me want to cry."

"Then let's not," Liam said, plucking the phone from her hand and setting it on the counter. "We don't need a white tablecloth to prove we still like each other. Why don't we just recreate our third date?"

Maya’s eyes lit up in recognition. "The disastrous homemade pad thai?"

"Exactly," Liam laughed, already moving toward the refrigerator to inspect their half-empty vegetable drawer. "I'll run down to the corner bodega for peanut butter, limes, and a decent bottle of Riesling. You queue up a terrible horror movie."

"I'll chop the bell peppers while you're gone," Maya offered, pulling a heavy wooden cutting board from the lower cabinet. "But if we burn the noodles again, we're ordering a pizza."

"Deal," Liam said. He grabbed his keys, leaning in to kiss her softly.

As the front door clicked shut, Maya listened to the rain and smiled. It wasn't a glamorous anniversary splashed across social media, but standing in their warm kitchen, it felt exactly right.


Maya leaned against the open refrigerator door, the cool air a stark contrast to the humid July evening pressing against their Chicago apartment windows.

"I'm thinking we skip the whole reservation hassle," she said, eyeing a half-empty carton of almond milk. "Four years is important, but my feet are already killing me from work."

Liam looked up from the kitchen island, where he was sorting through the day’s mail. He tossed a stack of catalogs into the recycling bin. "I was hoping you'd say that. Honestly, the thought of shouting over the music at that fancy new Italian place sounds exhausting."

"So, what’s the actual plan?" Maya closed the fridge and hopped onto the barstool next to him.

"How about a throwback?" Liam suggested, leaning in to kiss her temple. "I'll walk down to the corner store, grab that cheap Pinot Noir we used to drink when we first started dating, and pick up a pint of Ben & Jerry's."

Maya’s face lit up. "Only if we order from Siam Orchid. We haven't had their Panang curry since we moved in together."

"Perfect," Liam said, already pulling his keys from his pocket. "You put in the delivery order and queue up a movie. I'll handle the supplies."

"Deal. But I'm dragging the duvet onto the living room rug," Maya called out as he headed for the door. She pulled out her phone, dialing the familiar number of their favorite Thai spot.

By the time Liam returned with the wine clinking in a paper bag, Maya had transformed the living room floor into a cozy nest and lit the pine-scented candle they’d bought in Oregon last summer. It wasn't a grandiose celebration, but as Liam popped the cork and Maya laid out the steaming takeout containers, it felt exactly like home.


The rain tapping against the kitchen window of their Chicago apartment was the perfect excuse to cancel their reservation.

"I'll be honest," Maya said, expertly dicing a yellow onion on the wooden cutting board. "I'm relieved we aren't going to that upscale Italian place. Putting on heels tonight sounded like a punishment."

Leo laughed from the other side of the island. He was busy uncorking a bottle of Cabernet, struggling slightly with the foil. "You’re preaching to the choir. Sweatpants, wine, and your famous mushroom risotto is a massive upgrade from a loud dining room." He finally popped the cork, pouring two generous glasses and sliding one across the granite counter toward her.

"Happy four years, by the way," he said, tapping his glass against hers.

"Four years since that terrible blind date at the bowling alley," Maya replied, taking a sip and smiling. She scraped the onions into a sizzling skillet, the rich aroma instantly filling the small kitchen. "I still can't believe you dropped a bowling ball on your own foot."

"It was a strategic move to gain your sympathy," Leo said, stepping around the island to take over stirring the broth simmering on the back burner. "And look, it worked. We share a lease, a Netflix account, and a very demanding sourdough starter."

Maya bumped her hip against his as they stood side-by-side at the stove. It wasn't the diamond-ring-and-champagne kind of milestone that their parents kept hinting at, but it was exactly what they both wanted. As Leo reached over to turn on their favorite jazz playlist, Maya leaned her head against his shoulder. They didn't need a grand gesture tonight; a quiet kitchen, a shared meal, and the easy warmth of each other’s company was celebration enough.


Rain lashed against the apartment window, a typical November evening in Seattle. Maya leaned against the kitchen counter, scrolling through restaurant reservations on her phone with a slight frown.

"Everything downtown is either booked solid or requires a ninety-dollar deposit just to hold the table," Maya sighed, looking up at Liam.

Liam, who was rhythmically chopping garlic on their worn butcher block, paused and set down his knife. "We don't have to go out, you know. Five years is a big deal, but I really don't want to spend our anniversary yelling over a crowded dining room just to hear you."

Maya closed the app and tossed her phone onto the sofa. She walked over, stealing a slice of red bell pepper from his cutting board. "You're right. Besides, I'd rather wear sweatpants tonight. What if we just recreate our first date right here?"

"Pad Thai and a terrible sci-fi movie?" Liam grinned, sliding the garlic into a hot skillet. The savory aroma immediately filled their small kitchen.

"Exactly," Maya said. She nudged him aside gently and took the wooden spoon to stir the sizzling aromatics. "I'll handle the peanut sauce if you go queue up *Plan 9 from Outer Space*."

"Deal. But let's upgrade the wine this time," Liam countered. He walked over to their small wine rack and pulled out a bottle of Pinot Noir they had been saving since a road trip to Oregon last summer. "No more three-dollar gas station specials."

Maya laughed, opening the fridge to gather the rest of the ingredients. "Agreed. Gas station wine was charming at twenty-two, but at twenty-seven, it’s just a headache."

Together, they moved in the comfortable, synchronized rhythm of two people who shared a life. It wasn't a grand, cinematic celebration, but as Liam poured the wine and Maya tossed the noodles, it was exactly the anniversary they wanted.


Rain battered the living room window of their third-floor Brooklyn apartment, blurring the glow of the streetlights, but inside, it was a sanctuary of warm yellow lamps. Marcus stood by the cramped kitchen island, meticulously peeling the foil off a slightly too-expensive bottle of Cabernet.

"So," he said, glancing up. "Five years today. Do we brave the rain and the subway for our reservation at that fancy Italian place, or do we pivot?"

Sarah walked in from the bedroom, tossing her damp work blazer onto the back of a dining chair. She sighed, a tired but deeply contented sound, and leaned against the counter next to him. "Honestly? The idea of putting hard pants back on and dealing with the L train feels like a betrayal of our love."

Marcus laughed, expertly twisting the corkscrew. "I thought you might say that. Good thing I stopped at the butcher on my lunch break. Picked up two ribeyes, just in case."

"You're a visionary," Sarah said, rising onto her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his cheek before reaching into the cabinet for two wine glasses. "I’ll make the garlic mash. We have those Yukon golds from the Sunday market that are going to sprout if we don't use them tonight."

"Deal." Marcus poured the dark red wine, sliding a glass across the granite toward her. "I also queued up that new mystery movie you've been wanting to watch. Though, if we fall asleep by nine, I'm still counting it as a wildly successful anniversary."

Sarah took a sip, then clinked her glass against his. "Steak, potatoes, wine, and sweatpants. Five years together really culminates in peak efficiency, doesn't it?"

"It culminates in knowing exactly what makes us happy," Marcus smiled, turning on the stove.

Sarah grabbed


Rain lashed against the windows of their third-floor Brooklyn walk-up, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled heavily of garlic and butter. Maya nudged Ben out of the way with her hip to reach the cutting board.

"Watch the knife," Ben warned, though he smiled, seamlessly stepping back to check the oven. He pulled out a pan of roasted asparagus, the satisfying sizzle filling the small space.

"Four years," Maya said, expertly dicing a shiny red bell pepper. "And to think, on our first anniversary we went to that overpriced rooftop bar and froze to death."

"I still can't believe I tried to pull off a linen suit in October," Ben laughed. He set the hot pan on the stove and turned to the counter, uncorking a bottle of Pinot Noir they had picked up from the neighborhood liquor store. He poured two glasses, sliding one across the butcher block toward her.

Maya wiped her hands on a dish towel and took a sip, leaning against the counter. "This is infinitely better. No reservations, no screaming to hear each other over a DJ."

"Just you, me, and my legendary chicken parmesan," Ben said, grabbing two oversized ceramic plates from the open shelving.

Maya used a pair of tongs to serve the linguine while Ben carefully transferred the breaded chicken, spooning his slow-simmered marinara sauce over the top. Together, they carried their dinner to the living room, bypassing the cramped dining table entirely.

Ben dropped a pile of paper napkins on the coffee table while Maya grabbed the remote to queue up a movie. He sank into the couch, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as she tucked her feet beneath him. They clinked their wine glasses together, the quiet comfort of their shared life exactly the celebration they wanted.


The late afternoon sun slanted through the blinds of their second-floor apartment, casting long shadows across the living room. It was their fourth anniversary—not of a wedding, but of a chilly November Tuesday when they had first shared a plate of overly salted fries at a diner downtown.

"Are we still in agreement on the sweatpants dress code?" Liam called from the kitchen, his head half-buried in the refrigerator as he took inventory.

Maya looked up from the dining table, where she was clearing away a stack of unopened mail and her work laptop. "Absolutely. If it requires a zipper, I’m not wearing it," she said, carrying the clutter into the spare bedroom. "Did you find the mozzarella?"

"Got it," Liam said, emerging with the cheese and a jar of marinara sauce. He set them on the counter and began dusting the surface with flour. "I was thinking we could attempt the homemade pizza crust again, but I bought the pre-made grocery store dough just in case. I know my limits."

Maya laughed, walking into the kitchen and tying an apron over her oversized t-shirt. She grabbed a chef's knife and a red bell pepper. "Smart man. I’ll chop the veggies; you roll out the safety dough. We don't need a repeat of the flour explosion of last year."

As she diced the pepper, Liam bumped his shoulder gently against hers. "So, what’s the entertainment for tonight? We have pizza, we have the good wine, and we have the entire couch to ourselves."

"I was thinking that terrible sci-fi movie we started on our second date and never finished," Maya suggested, sliding the vegetables into a bowl.

"Perfect," Liam smiled, a smudge of flour on his chin. "A quiet, highly predictable night. Happy anniversary, Maya."

"Happy anniversary," she smiled back, leaning in for a kiss.


Rain lashed against the windows of their second-floor Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Maya leaned against the quartz counter, scrolling through a recipe blog on her phone.

"So, Friday is four years," she said, glancing up as Sam chopped onions at the island. "I know we usually do the whole fancy downtown dinner thing, but honestly? I'm exhausted just thinking about reservations, parking, and tipping."

Sam scraped the diced onions into a skillet, the sizzle filling the brief silence. He wiped his hands on a dish towel and turned to her. "I'm totally fine with staying in. Actually, I'd prefer it. What if we finally make that wild mushroom risotto we've been talking about since last winter?"

"Only if you promise to do all the stirring," Maya laughed, setting her phone down. "My arm still aches from the polenta disaster of twenty-two."

"Deal," Sam said, walking over to wrap an arm around her waist. "I’ll handle the risotto. I'll even stop by the wine shop on my way home from the clinic to find a good Barolo to pair with it."

"Perfect," Maya said, actively leaning into his embrace. "And while you're doing that, I'll pick up some of those artisanal chocolates from the place on Elm Street. We can eat them on the couch in our sweatpants while we rewatch *High Fidelity*."

"A culinary masterpiece, expensive wine, and John Cusack complaining about his love life?" Sam grinned, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "It’s a foolproof plan."

Maya smiled, resting her head against his shoulder. They didn't need a crowded restaurant to validate their relationship. A quiet night, a shared kitchen, and a team effort were exactly what four years together looked like.


Rain lashed against the windows of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Liam leaned over the cutting board, methodically dicing a yellow onion, while Maya wrestled the cork out of a bottle of Pinot Noir.

"Four years," Maya said, finally popping the cork with a soft *thwack*. She poured two glasses and slid one across the granite island. "Are you absolutely sure you don't mind skipping a fancy dinner? We could still try to brave the weather for a walk-in at that Italian place downtown."

"And put on hard pants in this downpour?" Liam asked, pausing his chopping to take a sip of the wine. "Not a chance. Besides, my mushroom risotto is better."

Maya laughed, stepping up to the stove to turn on the burner. "Your endless humility is the main reason I kept dating you." She drizzled olive oil into the heavy-bottomed pan. "Okay, so the itinerary is: risotto, the good wine, and the couch. What are we watching? I vote for something where nothing bad happens to a dog."

"Deal," Liam said. He scraped the onions into the pan, the loud sizzle filling the quiet kitchen. "We could finally finish the new season of *The Great British Baking Show*. Or just watch *Knives Out* for the fifth time."

"Let's do *Knives Out*," Maya decided, taking the wooden spoon from him to stir the softening onions so he could step away. "Go set up the living room."

Liam grabbed two heavy knit blankets from the hallway closet and draped them over their worn velvet sofa. He lit a cedar-scented candle on the coffee table, a small concession to romance. When he returned to the kitchen, Maya was already plating the food. They clinked their glasses together over the steaming bowls, perfectly content in the quiet life they had built.


Maya leaned against the open refrigerator door, the cool morning air spilling over her bare feet. "So, three years today," she said, glancing back over her shoulder at their sunlit kitchen. "Are we absolutely sure we don't want to brave that new Italian place downtown?"

Julian looked up from the stack of mail scattered across the granite island. He walked over, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder. "On a Friday night? It’ll be packed, loud, and completely overpriced. Honestly, I’d much rather stay right here with you."

"Good," Maya smiled, letting the heavy fridge door click shut. "Because all I really want to do is put on my gray sweatpants, open the windows, and eat carbohydrates."

"Then it's settled." Julian stepped back, picking up his phone from the counter. "How about you take charge of the main course? Your wild mushroom risotto is significantly better than anything downtown anyway. I’ll leave the office a little early and stop by the wine shop on the corner. I can grab that Oregon Pinot Noir we liked last time, or I can ask the owner to recommend something new."

"Get something new," Maya decided, moving to the pantry to check their stock of arborio rice. "And maybe stop at the bakery on 4th Street? If we're staying in, we definitely need something chocolate for dessert."

"Double chocolate tart," Julian confirmed, tapping the reminder into his screen. "What's the entertainment? A movie, or do we finally finish that thousand-piece puzzle currently taking up half the living room?"

"Puzzle," Maya said firmly. She turned to face him, tossing the bag of rice onto the counter. "Sweatpants, risotto, wine, and a puzzle. Happy anniversary, babe."

Julian grinned, leaning in to press a soft,


Maya chopped a clove of garlic while Sam poured two glasses of Cabernet. It was a rainy Tuesday in Chicago, exactly four years since their first date at that dimly lit, overpriced Italian place downtown.

"I still can't believe you ordered the squid ink pasta that night," Sam said, handing her a wine glass.

Maya laughed, scraping the minced garlic into a sizzling cast-iron pan. "I wanted to look sophisticated. Instead, I ended up with black teeth for half the evening. Yet, here we are."

They had decided against a fancy restaurant this year. Between their climbing rent and the joint savings account they’d recently opened, a quiet night in felt more like a genuine luxury anyway.

Sam opened the fridge and pulled out the steaks he’d carefully marinated before leaving for work that morning. "I queued up the projector in the living room," he said, setting the meat on the counter. "*Casablanca* or *Die Hard*?"

"It's our anniversary, Sam. *Casablanca*, obviously. We can watch Bruce Willis blow things up this weekend."

"As you wish," he smiled, taking over the stove to sear the steaks while Maya began washing greens for a salad. They navigated the narrow apartment kitchen with the practiced, seamless choreography of two people who knew each other’s rhythms perfectly.

Once the food was plated, they carried their dinner to the coffee table. The living room was dark, the projector casting a soft silver glow against the blank wall. Maya grabbed a knitted throw blanket and draped it over their legs as Sam pressed play.

He reached over, his hand finding hers against the worn fabric of the sofa. "Happy anniversary, Maya."

"Happy anniversary," she replied, leaning her head against his shoulder. It wasn't Paris, but as the opening credits rolled, it was exactly where they both wanted to be.


Maya wiped down the laminate counter of their Chicago apartment, pushing aside a stack of mail addressed to both of them. It was their four-year anniversary, and the heavy October rain drumming against the living room window had easily finalized their plans to stay exactly where they were.

Julian pushed through the front door, shaking off his wet umbrella. He balanced a damp paper bag in one arm and a bottle of Chianti in the other.

"I braved the storm," Julian announced, kicking off his soaked sneakers. "The steaks survived, but I think the baguette took some water damage."

"We can salvage it in the oven," Maya laughed, taking the grocery bag from his arms. "Go dry off. I’ll start the prep."

By the time Julian returned in dry sweatpants and a faded college t-shirt, Maya had already minced the garlic and snapped the asparagus. He took his place beside her at the tiny stove, seamlessly taking over the cast-iron skillet while she worked on a quick balsamic glaze. They bumped hips in the narrow kitchen—a familiar, comfortable choreography developed over three years of sharing a lease.

"Four years since that awful pub trivia night," Julian said, dropping a knob of butter into the hot pan. It sizzled loudly, filling the apartment with the rich scent of thyme and searing meat.

"I still say my team would have won if you hadn't kept distracting me," Maya teased, reaching up to pull two wine glasses from the open cabinet.

"I think my terrible pickup line was the real prize," he replied, popping the cork and pouring the dark red wine.

They carried their mismatched plates to the coffee table. Settling onto the worn velvet sofa, Maya leaned against Julian's shoulder. There were no expensive gifts or grand restaurant reservations, just the quiet, steady warmth of the life they had built together.


Rain battered the living room windows of their Chicago apartment, casting long, watery shadows across the hardwood floor. Maya dropped her keys into the ceramic bowl by the door and kicked off her wet boots.

"Happy four years," Sam called from the kitchen. He leaned against the counter, an apron tied haphazardly around his waist, holding up a half-peeled onion. "I was going to suggest we brave the storm and go to that fancy Italian place downtown, but honestly? I'm exhausted."

Maya walked over, wrapping her arms around him and resting her chin on his shoulder. "Happy anniversary. And thank god. The thought of putting hard pants back on makes me want to cry."

Sam laughed, turning to kiss her forehead. "Sweatpants it is. But we still need to celebrate. I can finish making this risotto, or we can order from the Thai place we went to on our third date."

"Let's do Thai," Maya decided instantly, pulling her phone from her pocket to open the delivery app. "Pad Kee Mao for you, Panang curry for me. I'll place the order if you pick out the wine."

"Deal." Sam untied the apron and tossed it onto a stool. He walked over to their small wine rack, scanning the bottles. "I've been saving this Cabernet since our trip to Napa last fall. Seems like the right occasion."

"Perfect." Maya hit 'confirm' on her screen and moved to the living room, grabbing the TV remote. "I'm cueing up that terrible sci-fi movie we fell asleep watching on our first anniversary."

Sam walked in with two filled glasses and handed her one. Clinking his glass against hers, he smiled as the opening credits rolled. "To four years of never having to leave the couch."

"Best four years of my life," Maya replied.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, blurring the streetlights into warm, golden smears. Mark leaned over the kitchen island, carefully pulling the cork from a bottle of Pinot Noir. Hearing the front door click open, he looked up and smiled as Elena stepped inside, shaking out her dripping umbrella.

"Happy anniversary," Mark said, pouring the dark wine into two waiting glasses. "Four years."

Elena kicked off her soaked boots and let out a long, exhausted sigh that quickly morphed into a smile. She walked over, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his chest. "Happy anniversary. I am so glad to be home."

"I checked our reservation at Vivaldi’s," Mark murmured, handing her a glass. "We still have an hour before we need to leave. Assuming we want to brave the storm."

Elena took a sip, closing her eyes. The idea of putting on a dress, hailing a cab, and navigating slick downtown traffic felt completely exhausting. "What if we just don't?" she asked, looking up at him. "What if our grand celebration is pajamas, the expensive wine, and whatever Thai place is delivering in this weather?"

Mark’s shoulders visibly relaxed. He pulled his phone from his pocket, his thumb already hovering over their favorite food delivery app. "Pad Kee Mao for you, Panang curry for me?"

"You know me so well," Elena laughed, setting her glass on the counter. "I'll go change into sweatpants. Can you queue up that documentary we fell asleep watching last weekend?"

"Already on it," Mark said, tapping in their order.

As Elena padded down the hallway to their shared bedroom, Mark smiled. They didn't need a candlelit restaurant to validate the life they had built. The quiet comfort of their home, safe from the rain, was exactly where they both wanted to be.


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

"Four years," she said, tossing a handful of diced onions into the sizzling skillet. "And you still haven't learned to chop faster than a sloth."

Liam laughed, leaning against the granite counter to uncork the bottle of Cabernet they’d bought for the occasion. "I was taking my time, savoring the moment. It’s a special night. Besides, my slow chopping means you take over, which means we actually get to eat before midnight."

They had agreed to keep their anniversary strictly low-key this year. No crowded downtown restaurants, no expensive reservations. Just homemade mushroom risotto, a good vintage, and the familiar comfort of their shared space.

"I've got the movie cued up in the living room," Liam announced, pouring two generous glasses of wine and handing one to Maya. "I finally rented that sci-fi indie film we missed at the theater last spring."

"Perfect," Maya said, taking a sip. She stirred the arborio rice, watching it absorb the simmering broth. "Can you grab the nice bowls from the top shelf? The ones my sister got us for our housewarming."

Liam stretched to retrieve the heavy ceramic bowls, wiping them down before setting them on their small dining table. He struck a match and lit the two taper candles he’d picked up from Trader Joe's earlier that afternoon.

Maya carried the steaming pan to the table, the rich scent of parmesan filling the room. Liam pulled out her chair, placing a quick kiss on the top of her head before sitting across from her. It wasn't a grand, cinematic romance, but as they clinked their glasses together over the flickering candlelight, it was exactly where they both wanted to be.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Maya leaned against the granite counter, expertly chopping a bunch of fresh basil.

"I think canceling the reservation was the right move," she said, scraping the greens into a small ceramic bowl. "I really didn't want to shout over a crowded dining room on a Tuesday."

Ben looked up from the wine fridge, holding a bottle of Pinot Noir. "Agreed. Plus, five years means we've officially earned the right to stay in sweatpants on our anniversary." He grabbed a corkscrew from the drawer and methodically opened the bottle. "Though I did buy the good wine to compensate."

He poured two glasses, handing one to Maya before moving to the smart speaker on the bookshelf. "Jazz or acoustic?" he asked, scrolling through his phone.

"Acoustic. The playlist we made for that road trip to Maine," she suggested, taking a sip of the red wine. She turned her attention back to the stove, stirring the simmering marinara sauce.

Ben queued up the music and walked back to the kitchen, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder. The soft strum of a guitar filled the apartment, masking the sound of the city traffic below.

"Happy anniversary, Maya," he murmured.

She smiled, leaning back into his chest as she lowered the heat on the stove. They weren't married, and despite the occasional questions from their families, neither felt any rush to be. This—their shared space, the effortless rhythm of cooking together, the quiet comfort of a rainy evening—was exactly what they had built over the last half-decade.

"Happy anniversary, Ben," she replied, tapping his arm. "Now grab the plates. The pasta is ready."


Rain lashed against the living room window, blurring the amber glow of the streetlights outside their Chicago apartment. Maya turned away from the glass and adjusted the thermostat, deeply satisfied that staying in was the right decision.

The deadbolt clicked, and Elias backed through the door, his wet jacket rustling. He balanced a damp paper grocery bag on his hip and clutched a dark bottle of Cabernet.

"It’s absolutely miserable out there," Elias said, shaking water from his hair. "But I secured the ricotta, and the guy at the wine shop promised this bottle pairs perfectly with baked ziti."

"You're a hero," Maya laughed, tossing him a clean dish towel. She took the groceries and began unpacking them on the kitchen island. "I’ve already got the garlic and onions going. The whole place smells like an Italian grandmother's house."

"Exactly the vibe I wanted for our four-year anniversary," Elias smiled. He draped his coat over a kitchen chair and pulled a corkscrew from the drawer. "I officially cancelled the reservation at The Marigold on my walk back. I hope you're really okay with skipping the fancy dinner."

"Are you kidding?" Maya handed him two oversized wine glasses. "Eighty dollars for a tiny steak, or eating homemade pasta in our sweatpants while it pours outside? It’s not even a contest."

Elias poured the wine, passing a glass to Maya before tapping his phone to connect to the Bluetooth speaker. A soft, acoustic playlist filled the room, blending seamlessly with the gentle sizzle of the stove. Maya stirred the simmering marinara sauce, taking a slow sip of the robust red wine, while Elias grabbed a serrated knife and began slicing a fresh baguette for garlic bread.

They bumped hips in the narrow galley kitchen, falling into a familiar, comfortable rhythm. There were no grand gestures tonight, just the quiet, steady warmth of a life built together.


Rain lashed against the windows of their second-floor apartment, but inside, the air was warm and smelled beautifully of roasting garlic. Maya dumped her canvas tote bag by the door, toeing off her wet boots with a relieved sigh.

"Perfect timing," Liam called from the cramped kitchen. He was standing at the stove in his faded gray sweatpants, stirring a pan of sizzling mushrooms. "The pasta water is just about to boil."

Maya walked over, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind and resting her chin on his shoulder. "Happy four years, babe."

"Happy four years," Liam smiled, turning his head to press a quick kiss into her damp hair. "I grabbed the good Parmesan from the deli on my way home. The actual wedge, not the pre-grated stuff."

"You really know how to romance a girl." Maya let go and moved to the island, rolling up her sleeves. "Give me a knife. I’ll start on the tomatoes."

When they had first started dating, anniversaries meant reservations at overpriced downtown restaurants and stressed efforts to find the perfect outfit. Now, having lived together for the past two years, they had both agreed that braving the Tuesday night traffic for a forty-dollar steak sounded more like a chore than a celebration.

As Maya halved the cherry tomatoes, she watched Liam expertly drain the linguine. They moved around each other in the narrow space with practiced ease—a quiet, choreographed dance they had perfected over hundreds of mundane evenings.

Liam transferred the dinner into their everyday ceramic bowls, while Maya poured two glasses of a modest Cabernet they’d picked up over the weekend. They settled onto the living room sofa, pulling a familiar knitted throw over their laps.

"To us," Liam said, tapping his glass against hers.

"To us," Maya echoed. "And to staying in."


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Maya leaned against the counter, tapping a wooden spoon against her palm.

"Four years," she said, eyeing the shared calendar pinned to the fridge. "Can you believe we almost let it slip by?"

Leo closed the oven door with a soft thud and turned to face her, wiping his hands on a damp dish towel. "To be fair, Tuesday anniversaries are tough to track. We usually just celebrate on the weekend." He stepped closer, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist. "Happy anniversary, by the way."

"Happy anniversary." Maya smiled, leaning into his chest. "So, what’s the actual plan? Do we brave the storm for that fancy Italian place downtown? I think I can still snag a late reservation on my phone."

Leo glanced toward the window, where the rain was coming down harder now. "Honestly? The idea of putting on real pants and paying for surge-pricing on an Uber in this weather sounds exhausting."

"Thank god you said that," Maya laughed, stepping back to check the simmering pasta sauce. "I was secretly hoping we could just stay here. We still have that good Cabernet we bought in Napa, and I'm pretty sure there's half a pint of pistachio gelato left in the freezer."

"Sold," Leo said, already reaching for the corkscrew in the top drawer. "I’ll open the wine and get a fire going in the TV stand—yes, I know it's just an electric heater, but let me set the mood. You pick the movie?"

"Deal." Maya turned down the heat on the stove. "But no action movies tonight. It's our anniversary. We are watching a comedy, and we are eating on the couch."

Leo popped the cork with a satisfying *thwack*. "I wouldn't want it any other way."


Maya leaned against the open refrigerator door, the cool air offsetting the ambient warmth of their small Chicago apartment. "So, four years," she said, pulling out a half-empty bottle of Pinot Noir left over from the weekend. "Are we absolutely sure we don't want to put on real pants and try to get a table at that upscale Italian place downtown?"

Leo looked up from the living room floor, where he was actively untangling the audio cords of his vintage record player. "I’m sure if you are. That waitlist is still practically impossible to crack, and frankly, I've been looking forward to wearing these gray sweatpants since I clocked in on Monday morning."

Maya laughed, bumping the fridge door shut with her hip. "Sweatpants it is. But if we’re staying in for our anniversary, I’m ordering the premium Thai takeout. The place that actually charges extra for the peanut sauce."

"Spare no expense," Leo agreed, finally freeing the cables. He plugged them into the receiver and gently dusted off a worn John Coltrane vinyl. "Pad Kee Mao for me, level three spicy. And I'll clear off the coffee table so we can play Scrabble while we eat."

Maya set two wine glasses on the granite counter and began expertly uncorking the bottle. "You just want to play Scrabble because you spent all week memorizing the two-letter 'Z' and 'Q' words."

"It's called competitive strategy," Leo countered playfully, walking over to the kitchen island to retrieve the glasses for her. He paused, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing a lingering kiss to her temple. "Happy anniversary, Maya."

She smiled, leaning into his shoulder as she handed him a glass of wine. "Happy anniversary, Leo. Now order the noodles before the Friday delivery wait hits an hour."


Rain lashed against the windows of their third-floor Chicago apartment, perfectly validating their decision to cancel the fancy downtown dinner reservations. Maya stood at the kitchen island, expertly dicing a red onion for the mushroom risotto they had agreed upon as their backup plan.

"I'm officially declaring four years the 'sweatpants anniversary,'" Leo announced, emerging from the bedroom hallway. He was already wearing his faded collegiate joggers and carrying two mismatched wine glasses.

Maya laughed, scraping the onions into a sizzling pan of butter. "I'll take sweatpants over freezing in a cocktail dress and heels any day. Did you find the good Pinot?"

"Found it, opened it, and letting it breathe," Leo said, setting the glasses on the counter. He stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. The comforting smell of garlic filled the small kitchen. "Happy anniversary, by the way."

"Happy anniversary," Maya murmured, leaning back into him for a brief second before gently tapping his arm. "If you want this dinner to be edible before nine o'clock, I need you on stirring duty while I grate the parmesan."

Leo dutifully took the wooden spoon, swapping places with her at the stove. "What's the entertainment for tonight? We still have that French thriller in our queue, or we could just watch the Great British Baking Show."

"Baking show," Maya said instantly, bringing him a small bowl of freshly grated cheese. "It’s raining, we’re in sweatpants, and we’re making risotto. We require maximum coziness."

Leo poured the wine, handing her a glass before clinking it gently with his own. "To four years. And to knowing exactly what makes a perfect Tuesday night."

Maya smiled, taking a sip. "Cheers to that."


Rain lashed against the windows of their third-floor Seattle apartment, but inside, the atmosphere was warm and steeped in garlic. Maya nudged Julian with her hip to claim more counter space, her knife swiftly dicing a yellow onion.

"Watch the elbows," Julian laughed, stepping back to uncork the bottle of Cabernet they’d been saving for a special occasion.

Today marked exactly four years since they had first awkwardly met for drinks at a crowded downtown pub. To celebrate, they had mutually agreed to skip the overpriced restaurant reservations and spend a quiet night in.

"I'm just saying, if we're going to make this mushroom risotto work, I need room to stir," Maya said, scraping the onions into a sizzling cast-iron pan. "Did you find a movie yet?"

Julian poured two generous glasses of wine and handed her one. "I queued up that mystery thriller you've been wanting to see. I also fluffed the couch pillows and hid the laundry basket so we don't have to look at our chores."

"You're a romantic, Jules," Maya grinned, taking a sip.

Julian leaned against the refrigerator, watching her expertly manage the stove. "Do you ever miss it? The dressed-up, nervous energy of those early dates?"

Maya paused, lowering the heat on the burner. She looked around their slightly cluttered kitchen—at the stack of mail Julian hadn't sorted, the thriving pothos plant they had repotted together last weekend, and finally at Julian himself, wearing his faded college sweatpants.

"Not even a little," she said softly.

Julian smiled, walking over to take over stirring the rice while she prepped the mushrooms. "Me neither. I’ll go grab the heavy blankets for the couch. Let me know when you're ready for the parmesan."

As he headed into the living room, Maya added a splash of wine to the pan, perfectly content exactly where she was.


Rain lashed against the windows of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Maya leaned over the granite island, expertly mincing fresh basil, while Liam adjusted the flame under a bubbling pot of marinara sauce.

"Five years," Liam said, reaching past her to snag a piece of fresh mozzarella. He popped it into his mouth and smiled. "Did you ever think our grand anniversary plans would involve sweatpants and a movie queue?"

"Honestly? This is exactly what I was hoping for," Maya laughed, nudging his hip with hers. She scooped the basil into a small bowl and carried it to the dining table, which she had already set with their good plates and a pair of tall wine glasses. "Reservations are overrated, especially in this weather."

They had agreed weeks ago to skip the expensive downtown restaurants. Between Maya’s demanding new role at the hospital and Liam’s grueling hours at his architectural firm, all either of them wanted was a quiet sanctuary.

Liam drained the pasta, the steam billowing around his face, before tossing it into the skillet with the sauce. "I did track down a bottle of that Cabernet we had on our first date, though. Figured we needed a little bit of tradition."

"You found it?" Maya’s eyes lit up. She walked back into the kitchen, taking over the wooden spoon so he could work the corkscrew. "I thought the vineyard stopped selling that vintage."

"I have my ways," Liam said, finally popping the cork and pouring the dark wine. He handed her a glass.

They clinked their rims together over the steaming stove. There were no grand declarations, just the comfortable, synchronized rhythm of two people who had built a life together. Maya took a sip, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Happy anniversary, Liam."


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the atmosphere was warm and distinctly celebratory. It was exactly four years since Maya and Leo’s first date, and they had collectively decided to skip the crowded downtown restaurants in favor of a quiet night in.

Maya stood in front of the open refrigerator, assessing their options. "We have the ingredients for butternut squash risotto," she called out, pulling a half-empty bottle of white wine from the door. "Or we can admit defeat and order deep-dish."

Leo walked in from the living room, carrying a stack of mail he’d finally cleared off the coffee table. He tossed the envelopes onto the kitchen island and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"As tempting as an hour-long wait for pizza sounds," Leo said, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, "I vote we cook. I’ll do the chopping, you do the stirring."

Maya leaned back against him, smiling. "Deal. But you’re also in charge of the playlist. No sad indie folk tonight."

"Jazz it is," Leo agreed. He stepped away to grab his phone, immediately pulling up a lively John Coltrane album. As the upbeat saxophone filled the kitchen, he rolled up his flannel sleeves and reached into the cabinet for the cutting board and a chef's knife.

Maya set the wine on the counter and grabbed two glasses from the rack. Pouring them each a generous measure, she handed one to Leo. Their fingers brushed.

"Happy anniversary," she said softly, clinking her glass against his.

"Happy anniversary, Maya." Leo grinned, taking a sip before turning his attention to the squash. "Now, put on an apron. We have a masterpiece to cook."


Rain lashed against the living room window, but inside their third-floor Chicago apartment, the atmosphere was warm and distinctly low-key. Liam stood at the kitchen island, expertly uncorking a bottle of Pinot Noir. He set two stems on the granite counter before turning to lower the volume on the jazz playlist humming from the corner speaker.

"I still say braving the storm for Pad Thai was an act of true heroism," Maya said, shaking off her wet umbrella in the entryway. She carried a steaming brown paper bag into the kitchen, her cheeks flushed from the chilly October air.

"Well, happy four years to us," Liam smiled, taking the heavy bag from her hands and pressing a kiss to her damp forehead. "I plated the spring rolls while you were gone. And I finally found the lighter for that cedarwood candle."

Maya kicked off her boots and leaned against the counter, exhaling a long, contented breath. "Perfect. I was dreading the idea of putting on heels tonight. A crowded, overpriced restaurant sounds exhausting after the week we’ve both had."

"Agreed. Sweatpants, noodles, and the couch," Liam said, handing her a glass of wine. "I even queued up that documentary about the national parks you’ve been wanting to watch."

Maya took a sip of the red wine, her eyes softening as she looked at him. She began pulling the white takeout boxes from the bag, passing him the cartons so he could arrange them on the coffee table. Together, they quickly cleared away the lingering clutter of mail and laptops that had accumulated over the workweek.

As Liam lit the candle, the soft golden light flickered over the small, quiet life they had built together. Maya sank into the sofa cushions beside him, pulling a woven throw blanket over both of their laps. It wasn't a grand or expensive evening, but to them, it was the perfect celebration.


The scent of roasting garlic filled the small galley kitchen of their Chicago apartment. Maya leaned against the laminate counter, expertly mincing a handful of fresh basil, while Leo navigated around her to pull a bottle of Pinot Noir from the top of the fridge.

"Four years," Leo said, working the corkscrew with practiced ease. "It still feels like we were just dragging those heavy cardboard boxes up three flights of stairs yesterday."

Maya laughed, scraping the green ribbons of basil into a simmering pot of marinara. "I think my lower back still remembers those boxes. But staying in tonight was definitely the right call. The reservations at that downtown bistro would have felt too stiff."

"Agreed," Leo said. He poured two glasses of the ruby liquid and handed her one. "Plus, their playlist couldn't possibly compete with ours." He tapped the screen of his phone, and a soft, familiar acoustic melody began floating from the living room speakers.

They bumped their wine glasses together, the glass giving a sharp, cheerful *clink*.

While Maya drained the pasta, Leo set the small dining table. He laid out the good cloth napkins they usually saved for Thanksgiving and struck a match to light a pair of tapered beeswax candles. It was a comfortable rhythm they had perfected over their years of living together—a seamless dance of shared domesticity.

"Dinner is served," Maya announced, using a pair of tongs to twirl the steaming spaghetti into two wide bowls.

Leo met her halfway, taking the bowls and placing them on the softly illuminated table. He pulled out her chair with an exaggerated, chivalrous bow. "Happy anniversary, Maya. Here’s to surviving the stairs, the burnt dinners, and everything in between."

Maya sat down, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. "Happy anniversary, Leo. I wouldn't want to be eating homemade spaghetti in sweatpants with anyone else."


Elias dropped his keys into the ceramic bowl by the door, the clatter breaking the quiet of the apartment. Maya was already in the kitchen, still in her work clothes, peering into the open refrigerator.

"Happy four years," Elias said, shedding his winter jacket and stepping over their shared pile of mail to wrap his arms around her waist from behind.

Maya leaned back against him with a contented sigh. "Happy four years. I looked at downtown restaurant reservations today, but honestly? The thought of taking the subway and putting hard pants back on sounds exhausting."

Elias chuckled, resting his chin on her shoulder. "I was hoping you'd say that. Let's stay in. What are we working with?"

"Well," Maya said, stepping back to survey the shelves. "We have half a bottle of that good Syrah left over from Sunday. I could run down the street to Trader Joe's for some fresh basil, and we could make those homemade pizzas we tried last month."

"Deal," Elias said, moving to the sink to wash his hands. "But only if I get to stretch the dough this time. You're permanently banned after the great flour incident."

Maya laughed, tossing a dish towel at his chest. "It was one time! Fine, you handle the dough, but that means I get to pick the movie. No depressing historical documentaries tonight."

"Fair trade. I'll get the dough out of the freezer to thaw," Elias said, opening the lower cabinets to dig for the pizza stone. "And I'll set up the living room. String lights?"

"String lights are mandatory," Maya agreed, grabbing her keys for the quick grocery run. "I'll be back in twenty minutes. Don't start the wine without me."

Elias smiled as the door clicked shut behind her. It wasn't the glamorous, high-priced anniversary dinner they used to plan in their twenties, but as he pulled the flour from the pantry, he knew he wouldn't trade this quiet, shared life for anything.


"We need garlic," Liam said, his head half-buried in the refrigerator. "And probably more parmesan."

Maya looked up from her tablet at the kitchen island, adjusting her glasses. "Add heavy cream to the list. If we’re recreating the penne alla vodka from our first date, I refuse to cut corners."

It was their four-year anniversary—not of a wedding, but of a freezing Tuesday night in November when they had finally admitted they were more than just friends. Now, sharing a cramped but cozy apartment in Chicago, neither wanted to brave the icy winds for an overpriced restaurant reservation.

Liam emerged from the fridge, tapping a reminder into his phone. "Grocery run in twenty minutes. Are we dressing up for this, or is it a sweatpants-only affair?"

"Sweatpants, absolutely," Maya laughed, walking over to wrap her arms around his waist. "But I’ll light the good candles. The expensive ones my mother bought us for Christmas."

Liam leaned down, kissing the top of her head. "A perfect compromise. I’ll handle the cooking if you pick the movie. Just... nothing with a tragic ending tonight. I want to actually celebrate."

"Deal. I’ll queue up that awful sci-fi movie we watched on our second date." Maya pulled away slightly, stepping toward the living room to tidy up. "I’ll clear the coffee table so we can eat by the couch."

"Sounds like a plan," Liam smiled, grabbing his winter coat from the hook by the door. "Four years, Maya. And my favorite way to celebrate is still just staying in with you."

"Hurry back," she called out, already opening the cabinet to hunt for their favorite wine glasses. "The sweatpants are waiting."


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the air was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. It was their fourth anniversary—not of a wedding, but of the chilly November night they had first shared a basket of fries at a dive bar downtown.

Maya leaned over the kitchen island, expertly stretching the pizza dough she had prepared before logging into work that morning. "Did you find the Pinot?" she asked, tossing a glance over her shoulder.

Liam emerged from the hallway closet, a dusty bottle in hand and a triumphant grin on his face. "Tucked behind the winter coats, just like we left it. I can't believe we actually saved the exact vintage." He set the wine on the counter, grabbed a chef's knife, and pulled a carton of cremini mushrooms toward him. "Do you want these sliced thin or thick?"

"Thin, please," Maya said, using the back of a ladle to spread a layer of rich, basil-flecked sauce over the dough. "And don't skimp on the mozzarella."

"I would never," Liam chuckled, his knife making a steady, rhythmic tapping against the wooden board.

Earlier in the week, they had briefly considered making reservations at the new French bistro down the street. But as Friday approached, the appeal of braving downtown traffic in the rain had faded entirely. A quiet night in just felt more authentic to who they were.

While Liam finished arranging the toppings, Maya uncorked the wine and poured them each a glass. "To four years," she said, passing him a stemless goblet.

"To four years," Liam echoed, clinking his glass against hers. "And to keeping our sweatpants on."

Maya laughed, sliding the heavy stone into the oven before moving to the living room to queue up a movie. They didn't need a grand, expensive gesture to validate their relationship. The shared kitchen, the easy teamwork, and the quiet comfort of their home were already everything they needed.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Portland apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Liam nudged the cherry tomatoes around the skillet with a wooden spoon, watching them blister, while Maya leaned against the counter beside him, expertly working a corkscrew into a bottle of Oregon Pinot Noir.

"Remind me why we didn't brave the storm for that fancy downtown Italian place?" Liam asked, though a soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Maya popped the cork with a satisfying thwack and poured the dark red wine into two stemless glasses. "Because the last time we tried a five-course tasting menu on our anniversary, we were both asleep by nine," she laughed, handing him a glass. "Besides, your arrabbiata sauce is better. Happy four years, by the way."

"Happy four years," Liam echoed, clinking his glass against hers before taking a sip. He turned back to the stove, efficiently draining the rigatoni and tossing it into the bubbling red sauce.

They had moved in together two years ago, seamlessly merging their eclectic furniture and adopting a slightly neurotic rescue dog who was currently snoring on the area rug. Marriage was a conversation they occasionally acknowledged for the vague future; right now, their shared life felt incredibly secure just as it was.

Maya grabbed two heavy ceramic bowls from the open shelving and set them beside the stove. "I've queued up the movie. I even bought the overly expensive truffle popcorn you like."

"You spoil me," Liam said. He divided the steaming pasta between the bowls, garnishing them with fresh basil.

Maya picked up the bowls, her fingers brushing his, and led the way to the couch. It wasn't a grand, sweeping celebration, but as they settled under a woven throw blanket to eat, the quiet comfort of their shared home felt entirely perfect.


Maya leaned against the kitchen counter, scrolling through a list of overcrowded downtown restaurants. Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, making the prospect of dressing up less appealing by the second.

"Every place with decent reviews has a two-hour wait," she called out, abandoning her phone on the granite island.

Liam emerged from the hallway, tossing a folded stack of laundry onto the sofa. "Then let's just stay in. It’s our five-year anniversary, not a corporate gala. We don't need a white tablecloth to prove we still like each other."

Maya smiled, the lingering workday tension in her shoulders melting away. "You're right. Sweatpants and Thai takeout?"

"Even better," Liam said, walking over to inspect the contents of the refrigerator. "I’ll make that mushroom risotto you love. We still have half a block of good parmesan, and I can run down to the corner bodega for the arborio rice."

"If you're cooking, I'm curating the entertainment," Maya countered. She walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind as he peered into the fridge. "I'll open that bottle of Cabernet we bought in Napa last summer, and I promise not to pick a depressing documentary."

Liam turned around, closing the fridge door with his hip, and pulled her in for a slow kiss. "Risotto, the good wine, and a terrible rom-com. It’s a flawless plan."

"I'll set the table," Maya said, pulling away with a grin. "We're using the real plates, though. Not the paper ones."

"Deal," Liam said, grabbing his umbrella and keys from the ceramic bowl by the door. "Happy anniversary, Maya."

"Happy anniversary. Now hurry back before I drink the wine without you." She watched him step out into the hallway, feeling perfectly content right where they were.


Rain lashed against the windows of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Liam stood at the island, methodically slicing mushrooms, while a low jazz playlist hummed from the smart speaker on the counter.

The front door clicked open. Maya stepped inside, shedding her damp trench coat and kicking off her loafers with a heavy, relieved sigh. "The L was an absolute nightmare," she announced, walking into the kitchen to wrap her arms around Liam’s waist from behind. "Happy six years, babe."

"Happy six years," Liam said, turning his head to kiss her wet cheek. "I thought about braving the weather to get us a table at that new Italian place downtown, but I remembered our pact."

"Thank god," Maya said, pulling away to wash her hands at the sink. "The 'no fancy restaurants on a rainy Friday' pact is the best thing we’ve ever agreed to. What's my job?"

"You're on risotto duty," Liam said, sliding a wooden spoon across the granite. "Broth is already simmering."

Maya rolled up the sleeves of her work blouse and took her station at the stove, pouring a splash of white wine into the sizzling Arborio rice. She stirred rhythmically, leaning into the familiar choreography they’d perfected over three years of sharing the apartment. Liam moved around her to check the salmon in the oven, their bodies narrowly missing in the cramped space without either needing to look up.

"Did you get the wine?" Maya asked over her shoulder.

"A bottle of the Pinot we had on our first date," Liam replied, pulling two stemless glasses from the cabinet. He poured them each a generous measure, handing one to Maya.

She paused her stirring, tapping her glass against his. "To six years of staying in."

"To six years," Liam smiled.


Rain lashed against the living room window, but inside their third-floor Chicago apartment, the air was warm and smelled faintly of roasting garlic. Maya dropped her damp trench coat over a kitchen chair and leaned against the granite island.

"So, exactly four years today," she said, stealing a cherry tomato from the cutting board. "Do we feel compelled to brave the storm for an overpriced steak?"

Julian chuckled, gently swatting her hand away with a wooden spoon before tossing the remaining halved tomatoes into a sizzling skillet. "I made a reservation at Le Petit Bistro," he admitted, "but honestly, looking at that rain, I'd rather cancel and eat this pasta in sweatpants."

"Cancel it," Maya said immediately. She pulled her phone from her pocket, already opening her local delivery app. "I'll order that expensive bottle of Pinot Noir from the shop down the street to celebrate instead. You’re making the spicy rigatoni?"

"The very same," Julian said, turning down the heat on the stove. "The recipe we completely butchered on our third date. I promise the smoke alarm won't go off this time."

Maya smiled, walking into the living room to pull a thick knitted blanket from the back of the sofa. "I’ll set up the projector. We never finished that documentary about the deep-sea octopuses."

"Nothing says romance like bottom-dwelling sea creatures," Julian called out, though the fondness in his voice was unmistakable. He plated the steaming pasta, grabbing two forks and a pair of cloth napkins.

Maya dimmed the overhead lights and lit a cedar-scented candle on the coffee table. As Julian walked in and set the bowls down, she pressed play on the remote. They sank into the cushions together, perfectly content to let the rest of the city rush by outside while they celebrated the quiet life they had built within.


Maya leaned against the kitchen counter, tracing the rim of her coffee mug while Leo chopped bell peppers for their Tuesday night stir-fry.

"So, Friday is five years," Maya said, stealing a slice of red pepper from the cutting board. "I was thinking we skip the crowded downtown restaurants this time. Want to just stay in?"

Leo scraped the vegetables into the sizzling skillet, adjusting the heat before turning to her with a smile. "I'm completely on board with that. It’s been a long week already. What if we do homemade pizzas? We haven't used that pizza stone my brother got us for Christmas."

"Only if we make the dough from scratch," Maya countered, opening the fridge to check their baking supplies. Finding a small jar of yeast tucked behind the mustard, she held it up triumphantly. "I'll start the dough right after work on Friday. But you’re in charge of the toppings."

"Deal," Leo said, grabbing a wooden spoon to stir the pan. "I'll stop by the Italian grocer on 4th Street on my way home. Prosciutto, fresh mozzarella, maybe some of that hot honey you like?"

"Perfect," Maya agreed. She walked over to wrap her arms around his waist from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. "And after dinner? Movie marathon or Scrabble?"

Leo laughed, a warm, familiar sound. "Scrabble. I need a chance to redeem myself after the absolute beating you gave me last month."

"It's a date, then." Maya kissed his cheek, stepping back to grab the dinner plates. A quiet night in their shared apartment, making a mess of the kitchen and fighting over triple-word scores, felt infinitely better than any expensive reservation. Five years in, this easy, built-together life was exactly what they wanted to celebrate.


Maya dumped her tote bag on the entryway bench and sighed happily. "Four years," she announced to the apartment. "Can you believe we survived four whole years of my cooking?"

Liam poked his head out from the kitchen, a half-chopped onion on the cutting board behind him. "I survived," he corrected, grinning. "And tonight, to celebrate, I'm taking over. We're doing homemade ravioli. I picked up the good ricotta from that Italian deli on my lunch break."

Maya kicked off her loafers and walked over to wrap her arms around his waist. "You're a saint. But I'm not letting you do all the work on our anniversary. I'll make the sauce. The spicy arrabbiata you like?"

"Deal." Liam turned and handed her a glass of red wine he’d already poured. "I also queued up *Rear Window*. I figured since it rained all day, a classic Hitchcock and the couch made more sense than trying to get a reservation downtown."

"Thank god," Maya said, taking a sip. The rich, earthy cabernet immediately warmed her. "I spent the entire subway ride home dreading the idea of putting on heels."

She moved to the pantry, pulling out cans of crushed tomatoes, garlic, and red pepper flakes, setting them on the counter. Beside her, Liam wiped down the kitchen island and began dusting it with flour for the pasta dough. Outside their third-floor window, the streetlights of Chicago flickered on against the damp pavement, but inside, the small kitchen was bright and insulated.

"No heels, no crowded restaurants, just us," Liam said, rolling up his sleeves and pressing into the dough.

Maya began mincing the garlic, the sharp, familiar scent mingling with the rain outside. "Happy anniversary, Liam."

"Happy anniversary, Maya. Now pass the salt."


Rain lashed against the living room windows of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Liam stood at the butcher-block island, meticulously chopping mushrooms, while Maya unpacked the damp canvas grocery bags she’d just hauled up the three flights of stairs.

"Did you find the good gruyere?" Liam asked, sweeping the diced mushrooms into a small bowl.

Maya held up the wedge triumphantly. "Last one at Trader Joe's. I had to throw an elbow for it in the cheese aisle." She leaned over the counter and kissed his cheek, lingering a second longer than usual. "Happy four years, by the way."

"Happy four years," Liam smiled, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Pinot Noir. "Not bad for a Tuesday night anniversary. No fancy downtown restaurants, no dressing up."

"Exactly how I wanted it," Maya said. She grabbed two oversized wine glasses from the open shelving. "If we went out in this storm, we'd just be miserable and down two hundred dollars."

They moved around each other in a comfortable, practiced rhythm. Liam took charge of the risotto on the stove, stirring the arborio rice with steady circles, while Maya assembled a tart greens salad and whisked together a lemon vinaigrette. They didn't need to ask each other where the olive oil was, or who was setting the table. After two years of sharing the apartment, the choreography of their evening was second nature.

Once the meal was plated, they settled onto the velvet sofa instead of the dining table, pulling their bowls close. Liam raised his glass.

"To us," he said, clinking his wine against hers. "And to staying in."

"To us," Maya echoed. She took a sip as the rain continued to beat against the glass, making the small, quiet world they’d built together feel perfectly complete.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the space was warm and heavy with the scent of roasting garlic. It was their fourth anniversary—not of a wedding, but of a freezing November night when they had finally shared a hesitant first kiss outside a neighborhood dive bar.

Maya leaned over the kitchen island, expertly uncorking a bottle of Willamette Valley Pinot Noir. "I am so glad we canceled the dinner reservations," she said, pouring two generous glasses. "Going out in this weather would have been a nightmare."

"Agreed," Liam said, accepting his glass with a flour-dusted hand. He was up to his elbows in homemade pasta dough, a messy but beloved tradition they had started during their second year together. He leaned in, affectionately bumping his shoulder against hers since his hands were occupied. "Besides, Antonio's doesn't let us wear sweatpants."

Maya laughed, adjusting the waistband of her well-worn grey joggers. She walked into the living room, dimming the harsh overhead lights and striking a match to light a cluster of amber-scented candles on the coffee table. "Fettuccine is almost ready?" she called back.

"Give me ten minutes to boil it and toss it in the brown butter sauce," Liam answered. He washed his hands, dried them on a dish towel, and walked over to join her. He pulled a worn fleece blanket from the back of the sofa, draping it invitingly over the cushions. "Did you pick a movie, or are we just going to debate what to watch until the food gets cold?"

"I already queued up *Knives Out*," Maya said, handing him his wine.

Liam smiled, gently clinking his glass against hers. "Perfect." He kissed her forehead. "Happy four years, Maya."

"Happy four years," she murmured, leaning into his side as the rain continued to beat a cozy rhythm against the glass.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the air was warm with the comforting smell of roasting garlic. Maya leaned against the kitchen counter, swirling a splash of cabernet in her glass. Four years today. No rings, no grand social media declarations, just a shared life that fit like a well-worn sweater.

"Okay, the garlic bread is in the oven," Maya called out, checking her smartwatch. "The ziti needs ten more minutes. Did you figure out the movie situation?"

Leo appeared in the kitchen doorway, holding two mismatched fleece blankets and the TV remote. "I narrowed it down. We have the new sci-fi thriller you pretended not to want to see, or we rewatch *The Big Lebowski* for the hundredth time. Your call."

"Sci-fi thriller," Maya decided, walking over to hand him his glass of wine. "But only if you promise not to pause it to explain the space physics."

Leo laughed, clinking his glass against hers. "Deal. Happy anniversary, by the way."

"Happy anniversary," she smiled, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "I’m really glad we canceled the reservation at that ritzy French place. This is infinitely better."

Leo nodded enthusiastically. "A hundred percent. Sweatpants, the couch, your famous baked pasta, and no overpriced valet parking."

He walked over to the sofa, tossing the blankets down and adjusting the floor lamp to a soft, amber glow. Maya watched him for a moment, feeling a deep, quiet contentment settle over her. She turned back to the stove, turning off the burner beneath the bubbling sauce.

"Grab the plates?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Already on it," Leo said, opening the cupboard. Together, they plated their dinner, moving around the small kitchen in a comfortable, practiced dance before heading to the couch to celebrate four years of exactly this.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Maya stood at the butcher-block island, meticulously slicing Roma tomatoes, while Liam leaned over the open oven, checking on the focaccia bread they’d spent all afternoon proofing.

"It's looking perfectly golden," Liam announced, pulling off his oven mitts. He turned to the counter, uncorking a bottle of Pinot Noir. "Not bad for four years, right?"

Maya smiled, scraping the tomatoes into a ceramic bowl. "The bread or us?"

"Both," he said, pouring two glasses. He handed her one, their fingers brushing. "Though I’d say we’ve aged a little better than a ball of dough."

Four years ago tonight, they had huddled under a single broken umbrella outside a crowded downtown Thai restaurant for their first date. Now, they shared a lease, a slightly temperamental espresso machine, and a mutual agreement that braving the stormy Thursday night traffic for a fancy dinner reservation sounded exhausting.

"I'm glad we canceled the restaurant," Maya said, taking a sip of the wine. She reached past him to turn down the jazz playlist humming from their smart speaker. "I'd much rather be here in sweatpants, making a mess of the kitchen with you."

Liam chuckled, pulling a fresh apron over his head to tackle the pasta sauce. "Me too. Plus, I don't think any Michelin-star place serves pasta exactly the way you like it—drowning in crushed red pepper."

"Exactly." Maya leaned against the counter, watching him stir the bubbling marinara. She raised her glass toward him, the ambient kitchen light catching the dark wine. "Happy anniversary, Liam."

He clinked his glass against hers, his eyes crinkling warmly. "Happy anniversary, Maya. Now, hand over the chili flakes."


Rain lashed against the windows of their third-floor Seattle apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled comfortably of garlic and herbs. Maya stood at the stove, stirring a bubbling pot of homemade marinara sauce, a dish towel tossed casually over her shoulder. Four years ago today, she and Liam had shared a terrible, overpriced meal at a crowded downtown restaurant on their first date. Tonight, they were determined to do it right.

"Did you find the corkscrew?" she called out over the rhythmic drumming of the rain.

Liam appeared in the kitchen doorway, holding up the silver tool in one hand and a bottle of Chianti in the other. "Hidden in the junk drawer, exactly where we swore we wouldn't put it." He walked over, pressing a quick, warm kiss to her temple before setting to work on the wine.

They weren't married, and neither felt any immediate rush to be. Living together for the last two years had been a quiet, steady revelation of shared chores, compromised thermostat settings, and easy evenings just like this one.

"I cued up the movie," Liam said, successfully pulling the cork with a soft pop. "But if we watch *Goodfellas* again, I'm making you recite the dialogue from the kitchen."

Maya laughed, lowering the heat on the stove to let the sauce simmer. "Fine. We can watch that indie thriller you've been talking about. But only if I get the good side of the couch with the throw blanket."

"Deal." Liam poured two glasses of the ruby liquid, handing one to her. He raised his glass, tapping it gently against hers. "Happy four years, Maya. Here’s to never going back to that awful sushi place."

"Happy anniversary," she smiled, taking a sip.

Together, they carried their plates and glasses into the dimly lit living room, perfectly content to let the storm rage outside while they celebrated the quiet life they had built within.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, blurring the streetlights into smeared halos of orange. Inside, Maya leaned against the kitchen island, staring at the glossy menu of the downtown Italian restaurant they usually reserved for special occasions.

"I'm going to be honest," she said, dropping the menu onto the granite counter. "The thought of putting on hard pants and paying forty dollars for a plate of pasta sounds exhausting right now."

Julian looked up from the sink, a damp dish towel slung over his shoulder. He laughed, the tension in his posture visibly melting away. "Thank God you said it first. Five years together, and my favorite thing about us is that we can admit when we’re just too tired to be fancy."

"So, what's the backup plan?" Maya asked, opening the fridge and scanning the shelves. "We can't just do nothing. It’s our anniversary."

"We won't do nothing," Julian said, stepping up beside her. He reached past her for a package of fresh tortellini and a wedge of parmesan they’d bought at the farmer's market. "I will make my infamous brown butter sage pasta. It takes ten minutes, and it's better than anything downtown."

"Deal," Maya said. "And I’ll build a fire. Plus, there’s that bottle of Pinot Noir we brought back from Oregon." She bumped her shoulder affectionately against his. "I'll queue up the movie we watched on our first date, too."

"Knives Out?" Julian smiled, grabbing a cast-iron skillet from the overhead rack. "Nothing says romance like a murder mystery."

"Exactly," Maya grinned, already reaching for the corkscrew. As Julian began mincing garlic, filling the small kitchen with its sharp, familiar bite, Maya struck a match for the fireplace. It wasn't the extravagant night they had originally penciled in, but as the kindling caught and the wine breathed, they both knew it was exactly where they wanted to be.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the space was warm and softly lit. Maya dropped her keys into the ceramic bowl by the door with a tired sigh, slipping off her damp trench coat.

"Happy anniversary, by the way," Sam said, emerging from the kitchen with two glasses of red wine. He handed her one, leaning in to press a quiet kiss to her cheek. "Three years."

"Three years," Maya echoed, smiling as the exhaustion of her workday began to melt away. She took a sip of the Cabernet. "I know we talked about trying that new Italian place downtown, but looking at that weather... do we really want to brave the L train tonight?"

Sam glanced out the rain-streaked glass and shook his head. "Not even a little bit. I’d much rather celebrate right here. I already pulled the heavy throw blankets out of the hall closet."

"You're a lifesaver," Maya said, walking over to the couch and pulling out her phone. "If we're staying in, I’m ordering Thai from the place on Fourth Street. Drunken noodles for you, Panang curry for me?"

"Make it extra spicy," Sam agreed, clearing a stack of mail off the coffee table to make room for their dinner. He picked up the TV remote. "While you order, I'll find a movie. We can finally rent that sci-fi indie film you’ve been talking about, or we could just put on a sitcom and talk."

"Let's do the indie movie," Maya decided, finalizing the delivery order with her thumb. She kicked off her loafers and curled her feet under the blanket Sam had laid out. "Food will be here in forty-five minutes."

Sam sat down beside her, draping an arm over her shoulders and pulling her close. "Perfect. A quiet night in with my favorite person. Happy anniversary, Maya."


The rain tapping against the living room window sealed the deal for Maya and Leo. Four years to the day since they had officially become a couple, the damp Seattle evening outside made their shared apartment feel like a sanctuary.

"I think the reservation at the bistro is officially a casualty of this weather," Maya said, hanging her wet trench coat on the rack. She kicked off her boots and looked at Leo, who was already in sweatpants, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"I was really hoping you'd say that," Leo admitted, opening the fridge to inspect its contents. "I love you, but the idea of putting on a button-down right now feels like a chore. What if we make a giant charcuterie board and finally watch that documentary?"

"Only if I get to pick the wine," Maya replied, walking over to join him. She nudged him aside gently to grab a block of sharp cheddar and a jar of fig jam. "And you have to assemble the board. You’re the one with the artistic eye."

"Deal," Leo said, catching her around the waist for a quick kiss. "Happy anniversary, by the way."

"Happy anniversary. Now, less kissing, more slicing."

While Leo meticulously arranged prosciutto, rosemary crackers, and cheese into an intricate spiral on their wooden cutting board, Maya uncorked a bottle of Cabernet they’d bought in Napa the previous summer. She walked into the living room, dimmed the overhead lights, and lit a pine-scented candle on the coffee table, transforming their slightly cluttered space into a private retreat.

Leo carried the heavy board over, setting it down next to the wine glasses Maya had just filled. They sank into the familiar grooves of their sofa, shoulders touching. It wasn't the fancy, expensive dinner they had originally planned, but as the rain washed the city outside, it was exactly what they wanted.


The key scraped against the lock, and Maya pushed open the door to their Chicago apartment, immediately greeted by the rich scent of roasting garlic. Slipping out of her damp winter coat, she found Elias in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, vigorously whisking a lemon vinaigrette.

"Happy anniversary, babe," she said, leaning over the kitchen island to kiss his flour-dusted cheek.

"Four years," Elias smiled, tapping the whisk against the edge of the glass bowl. "I've got the salmon in the oven. Did you manage to find the wine?"

Maya held up a brown paper bag triumphantly. "Last bottle of the Pinot we drank on our first date. The guy at the shop had to dig in the back for it." She set it on the counter and grabbed a corkscrew from the drawer. "Are we still adhering to the sweatpants protocol?"

"Absolutely," Elias said, turning to check the oven timer. "No impossible reservations, no loud restaurants. Just us, the fish, and whatever movie you pick. As long as it isn't a documentary about deep-sea creatures."

Maya laughed, deftly uncorking the wine and pouring two generous glasses. She handed one to Elias, their fingers brushing. "Deal. I was thinking that old murder mystery we started months ago but kept falling asleep through."

While Elias plated the asparagus and roasted salmon, carefully drizzling the sauce just the way they both liked it, Maya moved to the living room. She lit the small amber candle on the coffee table, pulled their heaviest knitted blanket from the back of the sofa, and queued up the film.

"Dinner's ready," Elias called out, carrying two steaming plates to the coffee table.

Maya settled onto the rug beside him, clinking her glass against his. It wasn't a grand, cinematic gesture, but sitting there together in the warm glow of the television, it was exactly what they wanted.


Rain pelted the windows of Maya and Liam’s third-floor Chicago apartment, effectively canceling their vague plans to visit the rooftop bar where they had shared their first date exactly four years ago. Secretly, neither of them minded.

Maya leaned against the kitchen counter, still in her work trousers, inspecting the brightly lit contents of the fridge. "Okay, so the fancy tapas place is out. How do we feel about homemade pasta? I bought that fresh basil yesterday before the storm hit."

Liam emerged from the bedroom, having successfully changed into his favorite faded sweatpants, carrying a dusty bottle of Chianti. "Pasta sounds perfect. I’ll make the sauce if you knead the dough." He set the wine on the kitchen island and pulled a corkscrew from the drawer. "Happy anniversary, by the way. Four years of me stealing all the blankets."

"And four years of me pretending I don't secretly turn the thermostat up when you're not looking," Maya laughed, finally rolling up her sleeves. She pulled a bag of flour from the pantry, dusting a circle onto the dark quartz counter.

They fell into a familiar, comfortable rhythm. Liam minced garlic and crushed canned San Marzano tomatoes, occasionally bumping his shoulder against Maya’s as she rhythmically worked the egg and flour into dough. There were no grand, cinematic gestures, no surprise diamond rings or sweeping declarations—just the quiet, deeply rooted intimacy of two people who had built a shared life.

Liam poured two glasses of the dark red wine, sliding one across the flour-dusted counter to Maya. "To us," he said, raising his glass.

"To us," Maya smiled, clinking her glass against his. "And to staying in."

As the garlic hit the hot olive oil, filling their small apartment with its rich, heavy aroma, the city storm outside seemed to fade away entirely.


Rain tapped gently against the windows of Maya and Liam’s third-floor Chicago apartment, effectively making their dinner decision for them.

"So, no crowded downtown restaurant?" Liam asked, leaning against the kitchen island. He watched Maya pull a bag of flour and a carton of eggs from the fridge.

"Definitely not," Maya replied, tying an apron around her waist. "It’s our three-year anniversary. I want to celebrate us, not shout over a tiny table just to ask how your day was. Besides, I already bought the good ricotta."

Liam smiled, stepping forward to kiss her cheek. "I love how you think. If you’re tackling the homemade ravioli, I’ll take care of the atmosphere."

While Maya cleared the granite counter to create a workspace for the pasta dough, Liam moved into the living room. He folded the throw blankets that had been haphazardly tossed on the sofa, lit a cedar-scented candle, and queued up the playlist they had created during their first road trip together. Soft acoustic chords filled the apartment, blending with the rhythmic thud of Maya kneading the dough.

"Red or white?" Liam called out, opening their small wine fridge.

"It's a brown butter sage sauce, so let's do the Chardonnay we picked up in Napa last summer," Maya answered, her hands heavily dusted with white flour.

Liam uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses, carrying one back to the kitchen. He handed it to her carefully by the stem to avoid the mess, then grabbed a chef's knife to start mincing the garlic and sage. Working side by side in the warm kitchen, they didn't need a lavish night out. The quiet, comfortable rhythm of their shared life was exactly what they wanted to celebrate.


Rain lashed against the windows of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Maya stood by the stove, expertly tossing fresh linguine in the skillet.

"Can you grab the plates?" she asked over her shoulder. "The good ones, please. It is our anniversary, after all."

Liam smiled from the living room, where he had just finished adjusting the dimmer switch to cast a soft, warm glow over the dining area. "Four years today," he said, walking into the kitchen to pull two heavy ceramic plates from the upper cabinet. "And I still think staying in was the best idea we’ve had all week."

"Agreed," Maya said. She plated the pasta, carefully garnishing each dish with a handful of basil she’d grown on their tiny balcony. "I couldn't stomach the thought of yelling over the music at that new downtown place just to have a conversation."

Liam opened a bottle of Pinot Noir, the soft pop of the cork punctuating her sentence. He poured two glasses and handed her one. "I've queued up *When Harry Met Sally* on the TV. Unless you wanted to finally tackle that true-crime documentary?"

"No documentaries tonight," Maya laughed, clinking her wine glass against his. "Classic romantic comedies only."

They carried their dinner to the small wooden table they’d refurbished together last summer. Liam lit a single taper candle in the center, while Maya folded the cloth napkins. It wasn't the extravagant, expensive celebration their friends often posted on social media, but as they sat down across from each other, passing the parmesan cheese and settling into the comfortable rhythm of their shared life, it felt entirely perfect.

"Happy anniversary, Maya," Liam said softly.

"Happy anniversary," she replied, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand.


Rain lashed against the windows of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm. Maya leaned against the granite counter, scrolling through restaurant reservations on her phone.

"Bistro 110 is completely booked for Friday," she said, looking up as Liam unpacked the last of the Tuesday groceries. "And honestly? Paying eighty dollars for a steak in a crowded dining room sounds exhausting right now."

Liam folded the canvas bags and shoved them into the pantry. "I couldn't agree more. It’s our fourth anniversary, not a corporate gala. Why don’t we just stay in? We can do it right—no phones, no sweatpants, real candles."

Maya smiled, setting her phone face-down on the counter. "A quiet night sounds perfect. But if we stay in, we’re cooking a real meal together. None of that takeout pad thai we get every other weekend."

"Deal," Liam said, leaning over the island to kiss her cheek. "I'll stop by the local butcher on my way home from work. Let's do ribeyes. I can sear them in the cast iron with that rosemary garlic butter you like."

"And I’ll handle the sides," Maya countered, already opening the fridge to take inventory. "I’ll make the parmesan risotto we tried to recreate from our first trip to Napa. I can leave the office early to prep, and I'll pick up a nice bottle of Cabernet."

"Don't forget dessert," Liam added, loading their coffee mugs into the dishwasher. "I’m making those chocolate lava cakes. I even bought the ramekins last week."

Maya laughed, genuinely surprised. "You planned ahead?"

"I had a feeling you'd want to avoid the downtown crowds," he said with a wink.

Maya watched him close the dishwasher, feeling a deep, settling comfort. Four years in, and their best nights were still the ones built right here, collaborating in the life they had made together.


Rain lashed against the windows of their Seattle apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Maya stood at the island counter, expertly mincing basil, while Liam nudged past her to peer through the oven glass.

"Watch your elbows," she teased, bumping her hip against his.

"Just making sure the lasagna isn't burning on our special night," Liam said. He turned to the counter, pulled a bottle of Pinot Noir from the wine rack, and went to work with the corkscrew. "Four years. Can you believe it?"

"Four years since you spilled iced coffee on my notebook," Maya corrected, sliding the basil into a simmering pot of marinara. She lowered the heat and wiped her hands on a dish towel. "I think a quiet night in is exactly what we need to celebrate. No overpriced downtown restaurants, no dressing up."

"Agreed," Liam said. He poured the wine and handed her a glass, their fingers brushing. "I rented that indie sci-fi movie you’ve been talking about. The one with the time loops."

Maya’s eyes lit up. "You remembered! Okay, here’s the plan: we eat at the coffee table, put our phones in the bedroom, and argue over plot holes until we fall asleep on the couch."

Liam laughed, raising his glass in a toast. "To us, and to perfectly executed low-key anniversaries."

They clinked their glasses. Maya took a sip, savoring the dry red wine and the comfortable silence that settled between them. She reached out, playfully adjusting the collar of Liam's faded flannel shirt. They didn't have rings on their fingers, but standing there in the small kitchen they had painted themselves, surrounded by the quiet, steady life they had built together, everything felt perfectly complete.


Maya leaned into the open refrigerator, the harsh light illuminating a half-empty carton of oat milk and some wilting kale. "So much for my grand idea of cooking a romantic dinner," she called out over her shoulder.

"Thank God," Liam replied from the living room. He was currently wrestling with a tangled mess of HDMI cables behind the television. "If I’m being honest, I was really hoping we’d just order from that Thai place on 4th Street. Pad Kee Mao sounds infinitely better than us stressing over a hot stove on our anniversary."

Maya shut the fridge door with a soft thud and smiled. Four years today. No rings, no wedding registry, just a shared lease in Seattle and a mutual understanding that this was exactly where they wanted to be. "Thai it is. You get the streaming working, I’ll place the order. Spicy level three?"

"Make it a four," Liam said, finally emerging from behind the TV stand. He wore a triumphant grin as the screen flickered to life, displaying their movie queue. "I’m feeling adventurous."

He grabbed a heavy fleece blanket from the armchair and draped it over their worn, oversized sofa, carefully adjusting the pillows to create a comfortable nest for the two of them. Meanwhile, Maya tapped her phone screen, securing their delivery before walking over to join him. She handed him a stemmed glass of grocery-store Cabernet.

"To four years of dodging my mother's heavy-handed hints about getting married," Maya toasted, clinking her glass against his.

Liam chuckled, taking a sip. "And to four years of successfully keeping the houseplants alive. Well, mostly."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close as the autumn rain drummed a steady rhythm against the apartment window. They didn't need a grand, expensive celebration. A quiet Friday night, warm food on the way, and the easy comfort of each other's company was exactly what they wanted.


Rain lashed against the windows of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled faintly of roasting garlic. Maya leaned against the granite counter, scrolling through a food delivery app while absentmindedly twisting the silver ring on her right hand.

"So, Thai or Italian?" she asked, looking up at Liam. "It’s four years today. We have to do better than the leftover chicken casserole."

Liam chuckled, pulling two wine glasses from the cabinet. He wiped a smudge off one with his thumb before setting them on the kitchen island. "I vote Thai. Specifically, the Pad See Ew from that place on Halsted. But I’ll drive over and pick it up so we don’t have to wait an hour for delivery."

"You're a hero," Maya said, tapping her screen to finalize the order. "While you do that, I’ll queue up a movie. Are we finally watching *Casablanca*, or are we defaulting to the British baking show again?"

"It's our anniversary, Maya. Let’s be cultured," Liam smiled, pouring a generous splash of Cabernet into both glasses. He handed her one. "*Casablanca* it is. I'll even light those expensive pine candles your mom bought us when I get back."

"Don't go crazy," she teased, taking a sip.

They clinked their glasses together. There was a quiet, unshakable comfort between them, born of a shared lease, jointly assembled IKEA furniture, and a thousand mundane Tuesday nights. They didn't need a frantic, overpriced dinner reservation downtown to prove they were happy.

Liam grabbed his raincoat from the hook by the door. "Be back in twenty. Keep the couch warm."

"Hurry," Maya called after him. She carried her wine into the living room, folding the fleece blanket over the sofa. It wasn't the most glamorous way to celebrate four years, she thought, but as she queued up the movie, she knew there was absolutely nowhere else she’d rather be.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the atmosphere was perfectly warm. Maya pushed through the front door, balancing a brown paper grocery bag on her hip and a bundle of fresh eucalyptus in her hand.

"I got the good parmesan," she announced, shrugging off her wet trench coat.

Liam appeared from the hallway, tossing a damp cleaning rag onto the counter. He took the heavy grocery bag from her with a quick kiss to her cheek. "Perfect. I just finished vacuuming, and the garlic is already minced. Happy four years, by the way."

"Happy four years," Maya smiled, kicking off her boots.

They had agreed to skip the overpriced downtown steakhouses this year. Instead, they were recreating the meal from their first date: homemade mushroom risotto and a reasonably priced bottle of Chianti. While Liam moved around their narrow galley kitchen, expertly stirring arborio rice and adding rhythmic ladles of warm broth, Maya took charge of the ambiance. She trimmed the eucalyptus and arranged it in a glass vase, wiped down their small wooden dining table, and pulled out the cloth napkins they usually reserved for holidays.

"Do you want jazz or indie folk?" Maya called out, crouching to flip through their milk crate of vinyl records.

"Let's go with the Coltrane," Liam replied over the sizzle of butter and shallots. "Keeps it classy."

Maya dropped the needle, letting the smooth, crackling saxophone fill the apartment. She opened the wine, pouring two generous glasses, and carried them into the kitchen. Liam paused his stirring to take his glass. He wrapped his free arm around her waist, pulling her close for a real kiss.

"It smells amazing," she murmured, leaning against his shoulder.

"Almost ready," Liam said, clinking his glass against hers. "Best table in the city."