The late afternoon sun cast long, golden shadows across the hardwood floor of Maya and Leo’s third-floor apartment. It was a Tuesday, exactly four years since their first date at a cramped downtown coffee shop, and neither had the energy for a grand, crowded celebration.

"I'm vetoing the Italian place," Maya announced, leaning her head out of the refrigerator. "My social battery is at exactly three percent, and I can't stomach the idea of shouting over a live jazz band tonight."

Leo looked up from his laptop, where he had been anxiously scrolling through a list of downtown reservations, and let out a heavy sigh of relief. "Thank God. I was dreading the street parking situation anyway. Night in?"

"Night in," Maya agreed, shutting the fridge door and turning to face him. "But it still has to be special. I have half a pound of linguine, fresh basil, and those good cherry tomatoes we bought at the farmer's market. I can make that blistered tomato pasta you love."

Leo stood up, stretching his arms above his head, and walked over to the kitchen island. "Deal. If you're on chef duty, I'm on ambiance and provisions. I’ll run down to the corner bodega for a bottle of that Sangiovese we like, and grab a pint of dark chocolate gelato."

"Don't forget a baguette," Maya pointed out, tossing him his denim jacket from the back of the dining chair.

"Bread, wine, gelato. I'm a man on a mission." Leo leaned over the counter and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her temple. "Happy four years, by the way."

"Happy four years," Maya smiled, turning to ignite the stove. As the front door clicked shut behind him, she pulled her hair into a messy bun, perfectly content in the quiet, comfortable life they had built together.


Rain lashed against the windows of their third-floor Seattle apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled faintly of morning coffee. Liam leaned against the open refrigerator door, surveying its meager contents before their morning commutes.

"So, five years," he said, shutting the fridge with a soft thud. "Are we absolutely sure we want to skip the overpriced tasting menu at that new downtown place?"

Maya looked up from her laptop at the kitchen island, adjusting her glasses. "Positive. The last thing I want to do on a Tuesday night is squeeze into heels and yell over the sound of a crowded dining room." She closed her laptop and smiled. "Besides, sweatpants are the true hallmark of a successful long-term relationship."

Liam chuckled, walking over to wrap his arms around her shoulders from behind. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Sweatpants and staying in it is. But we still need a plan to make it special. I can run to the market on my lunch break and grab those scallops you love. Maybe I'll make a risotto?"

"Ooh, you’re speaking my language," Maya said, leaning back into his embrace. "If you handle the seafood, I’ll take care of the rest. I'll stop by the wine shop on my way home from the clinic and pick up a nice bottle of Sancerre."

"Perfect." Liam walked to the hallway to grab his rain jacket. "And for entertainment? No doom-scrolling tonight."

"Deal. I’ll rent that indie sci-fi movie we missed in theaters last month," Maya offered, standing up to grab her own coat. She paused, catching his eye with a soft, affectionate look. "Happy anniversary, Liam."

"Happy anniversary, Maya," he replied, tossing her a set of apartment keys. "See you at six. Don't forget the sweatpants."


The lock clicked, and Maya pushed open the door to their Brooklyn apartment, a canvas tote bag of groceries slung over her shoulder. The sharp, savory smell of roasting garlic already filled the small entryway.

"Happy anniversary," Liam called out from the kitchen. He was standing at the cramped counter, his flannel sleeves rolled up, methodically chopping a pile of Roma tomatoes.

Maya smiled, dropping her keys into the ceramic bowl by the door. "Four years today. And you still haven't learned how to dice without getting seeds all over the floor." She walked over, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind and resting her chin on his shoulder.

"That's part of my charm," Liam said, turning his head to kiss her cheek. "Did you get the wine?"

"Cabernet, just like we had on our first date," Maya said. She pulled the bottle from her tote and grabbed the corkscrew from the drawer. "I am so glad we decided to cancel the reservation at L'Artusi."

"Me too," Liam agreed, scraping the tomatoes into a hot skillet. They sizzled instantly, sending up a cloud of fragrant steam. "A hundred dollars a plate just to yell over the restaurant music didn't really feel like us. I'd much rather make pasta in our own kitchen."

Maya expertly popped the cork and poured two generous glasses, handing one to Liam. She then pulled a bundle of fresh basil from her bag and began tearing the leaves. They bumped hips as they navigated the narrow galley kitchen, a familiar, comfortable choreography developed over two years of sharing a lease.

Outside, the autumn wind rattled the apartment's old windowpanes. Inside, however, it was warm. There were no grand gestures or expensive gifts tonight—just a quiet dinner, a good bottle of wine, and the effortless rhythm of their shared life.


Rain streaked the windows of Maya and Evan’s third-floor apartment in Seattle, a fitting backdrop for a chilly Tuesday night indoors. Maya shut her laptop with a definitive click, pushing her work aside to reclaim the small dining table.

"Done?" Evan called from the kitchen, the sharp scent of garlic and sizzling olive oil drifting into the living room.

"Officially off the clock," Maya said, stretching her arms above her head before walking over to join him. She nudged him gently out of the way to reach the cutting board, grabbing a knife to halve the cherry tomatoes he had left out.

"Happy anniversary, by the way," Evan smiled, expertly uncorking a bottle of Pinot Noir. He poured two generous glasses, sliding one across the granite counter toward her.

"Happy four years," Maya replied, clinking her glass against his. "Can you believe we almost went out to that crowded restaurant downtown in this weather?"

"Canceling the reservation was the best gift we could have given each other," Evan laughed. He turned down the heat on the stove, stirring the simmering marinara sauce. "Sweatpants, homemade baked ziti, and not having to yell over a loud dining room? Unbeatable."

Maya scraped the tomatoes into a large wooden bowl, tossing them with fresh greens and balsamic vinaigrette. She appreciated the quiet rhythm they had built over their last two years of cohabitation. It wasn't about grand, expensive gestures anymore; it was about this effortless, shared comfort.

Evan handed her a stack of plates and picked up the silverware. "Movie or music tonight?"

"Let's just put a record on," Maya suggested, carrying the dishes to the coffee table so they could eat on the couch. "I want to actually hear you talk."

Evan smiled, moving to the turntable in the corner. "Deal."


Rain tapped gently against the windows of their Chicago apartment, providing the perfect excuse for Maya and Liam to stay inside. It was their four-year anniversary—not of a wedding, since they weren't married, but of a chilly November Tuesday when they had shared a plate of terrible diner fries and talked until two in the morning.

"So, what's the game plan?" Liam asked, loosening his tie as he walked into the kitchen. He opened the fridge, leaning heavily on the open door. "I could attempt that mushroom risotto we saw on YouTube, or we could accept our culinary limitations and order Thai."

Maya chuckled, kicking off her heels by the doorway. She walked over and bumped her hip gently against his. "Let’s accept our limitations. Pad Thai and Drunken Noodles?"

"Done. I'll put in the order if you pick the wine," Liam said, already pulling his phone from his pocket to open the delivery app.

"Deal." Maya reached into the overhead wine rack and pulled down a dusty bottle of Pinot Noir they’d been saving since a weekend trip to Michigan. "What about entertainment? We agreed: no phones, no work emails tonight."

"How about we finally finish that puzzle taking up half the dining table?" Liam suggested, tapping his screen to confirm their food. "And maybe put on that jazz record you found at the thrift store last week."

Maya smiled, uncorking the wine and grabbing two stemless glasses. It wasn't a lavish dinner at a downtown restaurant, but it was exactly what she wanted. "I love it. Good food, cheap records, and a thousand-piece landscape that’s mostly blue sky."

Liam took a glass from her, clinking it lightly against hers. "Happy anniversary, Maya."

"Happy anniversary," she said, leaning in for a kiss.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the atmosphere was perfectly warm. Maya dropped her keys into the ceramic bowl by the door and kicked off her damp boots, letting out a long sigh of relief.

"Happy five years, babe," Julian called from the kitchen. He was already wearing his faded canvas apron, chopping garlic with rhythmic precision.

"Happy five years," Maya smiled, walking over to wrap her arms around his waist from behind. She rested her chin against his shoulder. "I am so glad we cancelled that restaurant reservation."

"Me too. A crowded steakhouse on a Tuesday sounded exhausting," Julian agreed. He scraped the garlic into a sizzling pan of olive oil, the savory aroma instantly filling the room. "I picked up the good Parmesan from the deli on my way home. And the truffle oil."

"You spoil me," Maya said. She stepped away to open the fridge, retrieving a bottle of crisp Sauvignon Blanc. "I’ll handle the drinks and the ambiance. Are we doing a movie or a board game?"

"Let's do a movie. You pick," Julian said, dropping the fresh linguine into a pot of boiling water. "Just nothing too depressing."

Maya poured two generous glasses of wine and carried them to the small dining table, hastily clearing away yesterday's mail. She lit a pair of beeswax candles they’d bought at a farmer's market over the summer, watching the flames cast a soft, flickering glow over the room.

Julian brought over the steaming plates of pasta, handing her a fork before clinking his wine glass against hers.

"To us," Julian said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "No rings, no mortgage yet, but pretty damn perfect."

"To us," Maya echoed. They sat down together in the candlelight, perfectly content with the quiet, comfortable life they had built.


Rain lashed against the windows of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was a warm haven of roasting garlic and simmering tomatoes. Maya dropped her damp coat over the back of an armchair and walked up behind Elias, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Happy four years," she murmured, resting her chin on his shoulder.

Elias turned his head, smiling as he lowered the heat on the stove. "Happy four years. You made it just in time; the pasta is almost done." He handed her a wooden spoon. "Keep an eye on this while I open the wine?"

Maya took the spoon, giving the thick red sauce a gentle stir. "Only if it’s the good cabernet we bought in Sonoma."

"Already breathing," Elias called back from the dining room. He returned a moment later with two heavy glass goblets, pouring the dark wine.

They had briefly considered making reservations at a buzzy new bistro downtown, but after a long week of commuting and endless meetings, a quiet night at home felt like a much better reward. They moved around the small kitchen in a practiced, seamless rhythm born of three years of cohabitation. Maya strained the linguine while Elias tossed the salad, plated the food, and carried the bowls to the living room.

Instead of sitting at the kitchen island, they settled onto the plush living room rug, their plates resting on the coffee table. Elias grabbed the remote and queued up the classic mystery movie they had fallen asleep watching on their very first date.

Maya picked up her wine glass, her eyes catching Elias's in the soft glow of the floor lamp. He raised his own glass to meet hers.

"To us," he said, the glass ringing with a gentle clink.

"To us," Maya echoed, taking a sip. "And to nowhere else I'd rather be."


Rain lashed against the windows of their third-floor Portland apartment, completely validating their decision to stay indoors. Maya dropped two heavy canvas grocery bags onto the kitchen island with a tired but victorious sigh.

"I got the good cheese," she announced, shrugging off her damp coat. "And the exact pasta we had on our first date, though finding truffle oil in this neighborhood was a quest."

Liam turned from the sink, drying his hands on a dish towel, a warm smile spreading across his face. "You’re a hero. I’ve already cued up the playlist from that night, though I politely omitted the awful jazz band that played at the restaurant."

"Thank God," Maya laughed, pulling a wedge of aged gouda from the bag.

It was their four-year anniversary. While their coworkers had spent the week asking which upscale downtown restaurant they were booking, neither Maya nor Liam had wanted the pressure of a loud, overpriced dinner. Living together for the last two years had taught them the deep, underrated luxury of their own shared space.

Liam reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Pinot Noir, deftly working the corkscrew. "I'll handle the prep work if you want to be head chef," he offered, pouring them both a generous glass.

"Deal. You chop the garlic, I'll start the water." Maya took her wine, clinking the rim gently against his.

As Liam began rhythmically dicing cloves on the wooden cutting board, Maya turned on the stove, letting the soft acoustic guitar of their playlist fill the room. The smell of sharp garlic and wine mingled with the damp chill outside. It wasn't a grand, cinematic romance, but as Liam playfully bumped his hip against hers to reach the olive oil, it felt exactly like home.


Mark pulled the cast-iron skillet from the cabinet, setting it on the stove with a heavy thud. Outside their third-floor apartment, the Seattle rain drummed a steady rhythm against the glass, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled faintly of roasting garlic.

"Are we still doing the homemade pizzas?" Sarah asked, padding into the kitchen in her socks. She dropped her work tote by the door and leaned against the counter, bumping her shoulder playfully against his.

"Absolutely," Mark said, tossing her a faded blue apron. "It’s our five-year anniversary. I figured we should splurge on the good mozzarella." He pulled a ball of fresh cheese and a bundle of basil from the fridge.

Sarah laughed, tying the apron strings around her waist. "You really know how to spoil a girl. I've got the wine." She reached past him to grab the corkscrew and a bottle of Chianti they’d been saving for just such an occasion.

They fell into an easy, familiar rhythm. Mark stretched the dough across the floured island, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, while Sarah expertly sliced the tomatoes and poured two generous glasses of wine. There were no grand gestures tonight, no expensive restaurant reservations or fancy gifts. When they had discussed how to celebrate the day they made their relationship official, a quiet night in their shared home had been the unanimous choice.

"Should we queue up that new documentary, or just stick to an old sitcom?" Sarah asked, sliding her prepped toppings into small ceramic bowls.

"Let's eat on the couch and watch something we don't have to pay attention to," Mark suggested, sliding the first pizza into the oven. He turned and clinked his glass against hers. "Happy anniversary, Sarah."

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


The rain drummed steadily against the windows of their Chicago apartment as Maya chopped bell peppers at the kitchen island. Beside her, Liam stirred a simmering pot of black bean chili.

"So," Maya said, scraping the diced peppers into the pot. "Next Friday. Five years."

Liam looked up, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Half a decade. We survived the tiny studio apartment and the Great Ikea Assembly Incident of 2021. That deserves a serious celebration."

"Agreed. But what kind?" Maya leaned against the counter, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "We could finally do the tasting menu at Le Mouton. We’ve been talking about it forever."

Liam considered this, tapping the wooden spoon against the pot. "We could. It’s definitely fancy enough. But honestly? Dropping four hundred dollars on tiny plates sounds a little exhausting right now, especially after finally paying the car off last week."

Maya nodded, secretly relieved. "You're right. What about a weekend away? A cabin up in Wisconsin?"

"Also tempting, but next weekend is when my brother is moving, and I promised I'd help him with the heavy lifting on Sunday," Liam said, grimacing apologetically.

"Okay, so no Michelin stars, no romantic woods." Maya nudged his shoulder with hers. "What does that leave us?"

Liam turned the stove down to a simmer and wrapped an arm around her waist. "What if we just recreate our first date? We order the absolute worst, greasiest deep-dish pizza from Sal's, buy a cheap bottle of red wine, and try to beat each other at Mario Kart until two in the morning."

Maya laughed, the tension in her shoulders melting as she rested her head against his. "Only if I get to play as Yoshi."

"Deal," Liam said, kissing her temple. "Happy early anniversary."


Maya leaned against the kitchen counter, scrolling through the calendar on her phone while Liam stirred a pot of marinara sauce on the stove. The rich smell of garlic filled their small apartment.

"So, next Saturday," Maya said, looking up. "Five years. Do we have a game plan?"

Liam tapped the wooden spoon against the edge of the pot. "I was actually looking at that new French place downtown. But honestly, the tasting menu is two hundred dollars a person, and I feel like we’d both rather put that toward the new couch fund."

Maya chuckled, setting her phone down. "Agreed. As much as I love an excuse to get dressed up, spending a chunk of our rent on tiny portions feels a little irresponsible right now. But five years is a big deal. I still want it to feel special."

"What if we recreate our first trip instead?" Liam suggested, turning down the heat on the stove. "We could drive up to that A-frame cabin near the lake for the weekend. Just us, the dog, and a ridiculous amount of cheap wine. I checked earlier today, and it's actually available."

Maya smiled, a wave of nostalgia hitting her as she remembered the drafty little rental in Wisconsin where they had first realized this relationship was going the distance. "I would absolutely love that. Are we still doing gifts, or just the trip?"

"How about a strict fifty-dollar limit?" Liam offered, turning to face her completely. "Something thoughtful, nothing crazy."

"Deal." Maya walked over and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Five years of living in each other's pockets, and you still want to trap yourself in a tiny cabin with me."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he said, kissing the top of her head. "Now, grab the plates."


Maya chopped bell peppers at the kitchen island while Liam stirred a simmering pot of chili. The faint hum of the refrigerator and the patter of rain against the Seattle windows filled the comfortable silence of their Tuesday evening.

"So, next weekend is the big five," Liam said, tapping his wooden spoon on the edge of the cast-iron pot. "Five years since our first date. Do we have a plan yet?"

Maya paused, her knife resting on the cutting board. "I was actually just thinking about that today. My mom texted to ask if we were going back to that fancy French place downtown, like we did for year one."

Liam chuckled, adjusting the flame on the stove. "Le Petit Chateau? I mean, we could. The food was incredible, but I remember it costing half our rent at the time. Plus, getting in a suit sounds exhausting after the month we've both had at work."

"Exactly," Maya agreed, leaning against the granite counter. "I don't really want a huge production. But I also don't want it to just feel like another Saturday watching Netflix."

Liam turned to face her, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "What if we compromise? We take the entire weekend off from chores and errands—no grocery shopping, no laundry. We rent an Airbnb cabin up in the Cascades for two nights. Just us, the dog, some good wine, and we can cook a nice steak dinner together."

A slow smile spread across Maya's face. She walked over, wrapping her arms around his waist. "A cabin in the woods sounds perfect. It's special, but it's very *us*."

"I'll look up some rentals tonight after dinner," Liam said, kissing the top of her head.

"Deal," Maya said, stepping back to finish the peppers. "But you're definitely on dish duty for the anniversary dinner."


Morning sunlight slanted through the blinds of their shared apartment in Chicago, illuminating the steam rising from Maya’s coffee mug. She scrolled through the calendar on her phone, then looked up at Liam, who was methodically buttering his toast at the kitchen island.

"You know our five-year is next Saturday, right?" Maya asked, setting her phone face down.

Liam paused, the butter knife hovering in mid-air. "Of course I know. I was actually going to bring it up today. Five years is a big deal. We’ve survived a cross-country move, two terrible landlords, and adopting a severely anxious shelter dog." He glanced affectionately at Buster, who was currently snoring on the floor vent.

Maya laughed, tracing the rim of her mug. "So, how should we celebrate? I know we loosely talked about booking a cabin up in Michigan, but looking at my work schedule this week, I’m exhausted just thinking about the Friday traffic."

"Honestly? Me too," Liam admitted, leaning against the counter. "What if we keep it local? We could finally try that tasting menu at the French place downtown."

Maya wrinkled her nose playfully. "Two hundred dollars a person to eat foam? No thanks."

"Fair enough. Counter-proposal," Liam said, stepping closer and wrapping a casual arm around her waist. "We go back to that dive bar where we had our first date, eat terribly greasy nachos, and then come back here. We can open that expensive bottle of wine we’ve been saving since our housewarming party and watch bad sci-fi movies on the couch."

Maya’s face softened into a bright, genuine smile. "Terrible nachos, excellent wine, and you." She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "It’s a date. Happy almost-anniversary."


Maya folded a bath towel, breaking the comfortable silence of their Tuesday evening. "Hey, the fourteenth is next week. Five years."

Liam looked up from his laptop, the glow of the screen reflecting in his glasses. "I know. Half a decade. We should do something memorable, right? Maybe finally try that tasting menu at that new place downtown?"

Maya sighed, tossing the towel into the laundry basket. "I looked at their reservations. It’s booked out for months. And honestly, with the winter heating bill being so high and us trying to save for the roof repair, dropping four hundred dollars on one dinner feels stressful."

"Fair point," Liam said. He closed his laptop, slid off the sofa, and joined her on the living room rug to help with the laundry. "We could do a weekend on the coast? Rent a little cabin for just the two of us?"

"I'd love that, but I have that massive software launch on the sixteenth. I can't take the Friday off." She leaned against the sofa, catching his eye. "I want to celebrate us, but I don't want forcing the logistics to feel like a chore."

Liam nodded, his thumb rubbing the worn fabric of his jeans. "What if we keep it simple? We take Thursday evening completely off. No phones, no work emails. I’ll go to the good butcher, get those dry-aged ribeyes we made when we first signed the lease on this house. We can open that expensive bottle of Cabernet we brought back from California last year."

Maya smiled, feeling the tension leave her shoulders. "Steak, fancy wine, and zero screen time? That actually sounds perfect."

"I'll even make the roasted garlic mash," Liam added.

"Deal," Maya laughed. Sitting on the floor of the home they had built together, it felt exactly right.


The scent of dark roast coffee filled the sunlit kitchen as Maya leaned against the counter, scrolling through her calendar. Beside her, Liam was methodically buttering toast.

"So," Maya said, glancing up. "Next Friday. Five years."

Liam paused, the butter knife hovering. "Five years of me putting up with your obsession with true crime podcasts. It’s a major milestone." He smiled, sliding a plate toward her. "Happy early anniversary. Have we figured out what we’re actually doing?"

Maya took a bite of the toast. "Well, my mom asked if you were finally going to propose, naturally. But parental pressure aside, I was thinking about that French place downtown. L’Amour or whatever it’s called."

"The one with the two-month waiting list and the eighty-dollar steaks?" Liam leaned back against the sink, crossing his arms. "We could try to get a cancellation. Or, we could book that cabin up in the Catskills we talked about. Just us, the dog, and zero cell reception."

Maya sighed, looking around their kitchen. She took in the sage-green walls they had painted themselves, the slightly crooked floating shelves Liam had built, and thought about the mortgage they split on the first of every month. They had already built a wonderful, solid life here.

"A cabin sounds amazing, but honestly? I'm exhausted from work lately," Maya admitted. "And L'Amour feels a little stiff for us."

"Okay, pitch me an alternative," Liam said gently.

"What if we just upgrade our usual Friday? We go to the fancy grocery store, buy the expensive dry-aged ribeyes, get a bottle of wine that costs more than fifteen dollars, and cook together. Then we eat on the patio."

Liam’s eyes crinkled in agreement. "Steak, good wine, and we don't have to wear real pants? Best five-year anniversary ever."

Maya bumped her shoulder against his. "It really is."


Maya chopped bell peppers at the kitchen island, the rhythmic sound of the knife pausing as she glanced at the wall calendar. "Liam, next weekend is the twelfth."

Liam looked up from his laptop at the dining table, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Five years. I haven't forgotten." He closed the laptop and walked over to the kitchen. "I was actually just looking at reservations. Le Petit Oiseau has an opening, but it’s a mandatory tasting menu. Four hours long."

Maya sighed, sliding the peppers into a sizzling skillet. "Four hours of tiny plates sounds exhausting, honestly. Plus, remember our three-year anniversary? We did that fancy steakhouse and I fell asleep in the Uber on the ride home."

Liam laughed, leaning against the counter. "You did. You were out cold before we crossed the bridge. Okay, so no tasting menus. We could do a weekend trip? Rent a cabin up in the Hudson Valley?"

"The gutters need fixing this month, and we just paid the property tax," Maya pointed out gently. Sharing a mortgage had a way of grounding their romance. "I want to celebrate us, but I don't want to stress about money to do it."

"Fair point," Liam agreed. He wrapped his arms loosely around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. "What if we just recreate our first date? We haven't been to that dive bar in years."

Maya leaned back into him, a smile touching her lips. "Sticky floors, cheap beer, and the best jukebox in Brooklyn."

"Exactly. We'll get a pie from Antonio's first, eat it in the park, and then go play terrible pool," Liam said.

Maya turned around. "That sounds perfect. But you have to promise to let me win at least one game."

"Not a chance," Liam grinned. "Happy almost five years, Maya."


Rain tapped gently against the living room window of Maya and Julian’s Chicago apartment. Julian was sprawled on the rug, sorting through the week's mail, while Maya sat on the sofa, scrolling idly on her phone.

"So, the fifteenth is next weekend," Maya said, breaking the comfortable silence. "Five years."

Julian looked up, tossing a utility bill onto the coffee table. "Half a decade. We should probably do more than our usual takeout from Thai Village."

"I was looking at that boutique hotel upstate," Maya said, turning her screen to show him a picture of a rustic cabin with a hot tub. "But honestly, between the property taxes and your car repair last month, it feels a little steep right now."

Julian rested his chin on his hands, thinking. "I want to celebrate us, but I don't want to stress about money while we're doing it. What if we do a high-end dinner here? I can get those dry-aged ribeyes from the butcher on Elm Street, the ones we always look at but never buy."

Maya smiled, warming to the idea. "And I'll make that brown butter asparagus you love. We can finally open the bottle of wine your sister gave us for Christmas."

"Exactly," Julian said, sitting up. "And during the day, we could take the train downtown to the Art Institute. We haven't been since our first year together."

Maya set her phone down, feeling the pressure of grand expectations completely melt away. "Steak, good wine, and French Impressionists. That actually sounds perfect."

"It's a date, then," Julian said, reaching up to squeeze her hand. "Five years of living in each other's pockets, and I still actually want to hang out with you."

"The feeling," Maya laughed, "is entirely mutual."


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the only sound was the soft hum of the radiator. Maya sat cross-legged on the sofa, scrolling through her calendar, while Liam graded a stack of high school history essays at the coffee table.

"Hey," Maya said, breaking the comfortable silence. "Next Saturday is the twelfth. Five years."

Liam looked up, capping his red pen. "Five years since you officially moved your massive sneaker collection into my closet." He smiled, abandoning the papers to sit beside her on the couch. "We should do something. A big dinner? Maybe that fancy French place downtown?"

Maya wrinkled her nose. "I looked at their menu. It’s a hundred and fifty dollars a person, and I'd have to dress up. After this week's quarterly review at the firm, wearing heels sounds like a punishment."

"Fair enough," Liam agreed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Weekend getaway? We could rent a cabin up in Wisconsin."

"Too much packing, and we'd spend half our Saturday in I-94 traffic," she said, leaning into him. "Are we boring now? I feel like we're supposed to do something grand for a five-year milestone."

"We aren't married, which means we get to make our own rules," Liam said easily. "What if we just recreate our first date? Tacos from the truck on 4th Street, a six-pack of that local IPA, and we finally finish the puzzle on the dining table."

Maya’s face lit up. "Only if we eat the tacos on the living room floor like we did when we first moved in and had no furniture."

"Deal," Liam said, kissing the top of her head. "Tacos, beer, and a floor picnic. Happy anniversary to us."

Maya smiled, tossing her phone aside. It was exactly what she wanted.


Rain lashed against the kitchen window, but inside their cramped Portland apartment, it was warm with the smell of brewing coffee. Maya leaned against the counter, scrolling lazily through her phone calendar, while Liam meticulously measured out grounds for the French press.

"Next weekend is the twelfth," Maya noted, looking up. "Five years since our first date."

Liam paused, the scoop suspended in mid-air. "Wow. Half a decade. We probably shouldn't just order Thai takeout and binge watch TV again, huh?"

"I mean, I wouldn't be mad at the pad thai," Maya laughed, "but yeah, we should probably do something a little more memorable. Should we finally make a reservation for that tasting menu at Le Pigeon?"

Liam poured the hot water, watching the coffee bloom. "We could. But honestly? Dropping three hundred dollars on tiny plates and dressing up sounds kind of exhausting right now. What if we packed up the Subaru and went out to the coast? We could rent a cheap Airbnb in Cannon Beach for two nights."

Maya considered it. The past month at her architectural firm had completely drained her, and the idea of wearing heels for a fancy dinner felt more like an obligation than a celebration. The Oregon coast, however, sounded perfect.

"A weekend away," she mused. "Just us, the rain, and maybe a beach fire if the weather clears up. Can we bring the dog?"

"Buster is non-negotiable," Liam said firmly, handing her a steaming mug. "I’ll look up pet-friendly cabins while you check your work schedule. And hey, we can still get Thai takeout on our way out of town."

Maya smiled, wrapping both hands around the warm ceramic. "Deal. Happy early anniversary, Liam."

"Happy early anniversary," he replied, gently clinking his mug against hers.


Maya folded the last of the laundry, tossing a stray sock toward the armchair where Liam was scrolling through his phone.

"Hey," she said, leaning against the doorframe. "Next weekend. Five years."

Liam looked up, instantly setting his phone face-down on the coffee table. "I haven't forgotten. Our five-year cohabitation-and-love spectacular. What’s the verdict? Are we doing the fancy tasting menu downtown?"

Maya wrinkled her nose. "I looked at the menu. It's almost two hundred dollars a person, and I’m pretty sure I’d still be hungry for a burger afterward."

"Fair," Liam laughed, walking over to help her stack the towels. "We could do a weekend trip? Maybe rent a cabin upstate. The leaves are just starting to turn."

"I'd really love that," Maya sighed, "but with my quarterly review on Monday, I know I'd just be stressing about emails the whole time. Plus, the dog sitter is out of town."

Liam picked up the folded pile, resting his chin on the top towel. "Okay, so no microscopic French food, and no rural retreats. What does that leave?"

Maya looked around their living room. It was slightly messy, deeply lived-in, and entirely theirs. "What if we just recreate our first date? But better."

"Pizza in the park in late October?" Liam raised an eyebrow. "It’s going to be forty degrees."

"Exactly," Maya smiled. "So we pick up the pizza from Antonio's, bring it back here, build a massive fire in the fireplace, and finally open that expensive bottle of wine your boss gave us for Christmas. Phones in the drawer. Just us."

Liam’s expression softened. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Sweatpants, Antonio's, and a roaring fire. Happy early anniversary, Maya. It sounds perfect."


Rain lashed against the kitchen window, blurring the glow of the Seattle streetlights. Maya sat at the granite island, scrolling through her calendar, while Elias leaned against the counter, waiting for the French press to steep.

"Hey," Maya said, tapping her laptop screen. "Next Friday. Five years."

Elias looked up, a slow smile spreading across his face. He pressed the plunger down and poured two mugs of dark coffee, sliding one across the counter to her. "Five years. We should do something big. A tasting menu downtown? Or maybe we finally book that boutique hotel out in the Cascades?"

Maya wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic. "Tempting. Really tempting. But we just put half our paychecks into the house fund last week. A five-hundred-dollar weekend feels a little reckless right now."

Elias sighed, though his eyes remained fond. "You’re right, the down payment demands sacrifice. So, what’s the middle ground? We can't just order our usual Thai takeout and fall asleep on the couch. Not for half a decade."

"What if we recreate our first date?" Maya suggested, looking up at him. "You made those terrible, overly spicy fish tacos, and we walked down to the waterfront."

"Hey, those tacos were visionary," Elias laughed, walking around the island to kiss the top of her head. "But I like the idea. How about I make the tacos again—properly this time—and we buy a genuinely ridiculous bottle of mezcal? The kind we’d never usually justify."

Maya beamed. "Perfect. I’ll make the playlist. And if it stops raining, we can still take that walk."

"And if it doesn't," Elias said, taking a sip of his coffee, "we'll just stay right here."

It wasn't a grand European vacation, but looking around their shared kitchen, it felt exactly right.


Maya leaned against the kitchen counter, wrapping both hands around her favorite ceramic mug. Outside their shared townhouse, a steady October rain washed the Seattle streets, but inside, the smell of freshly ground coffee made the morning feel warm.

"So," Maya said, eyeing the magnetic calendar on the fridge. "Next Friday is the twelfth. Five years."

Liam looked up from his laptop at the kitchen island, adjusting his glasses. "Half a decade. We probably shouldn't just order Thai takeout and fall asleep on the couch like last year."

"Hey, I liked the Thai takeout," Maya laughed, "but you're right. Five years feels like a real milestone. Do we want to do the fancy dinner thing? I could try to get a reservation at Le Coin."

Liam winced slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "We could, but honestly? It’s always so crowded, and spending two hundred dollars just to shout at each other across a tiny table doesn't sound amazing right now. Work has been so chaotic lately."

"Fair point. What are you thinking, then?"

"What if we take Friday off?" Liam suggested, fully closing his laptop. "Drive up to Mount Rainier for the day. We can do that hike we talked about in the summer but never got around to, and then stay over at that little bed and breakfast in Ashford. Just get out of the city and away from the WiFi."

Maya tapped her mug against her chin, considering it. A whole day of fresh air, followed by a quiet evening away from their usual domestic chores and work emails, sounded infinitely better than a cramped downtown restaurant.

"A cabin in the woods over a fancy menu?" Maya smiled, stepping over to wrap an arm around his shoulders. "You know me too well. Book the room, and I'll put in for the PTO."


The morning sun warmed the cramped kitchen of the duplex Maya and Ben had shared for the last two years. Ben was pouring the last of the French press coffee when Maya looked up from her laptop.

"Hey, so next weekend is the big five," she said, tapping the calendar on her screen. "Five years. We should probably figure out what we’re doing."

Ben slid a mug across the counter and leaned against the sink. "Wow. Half a decade. We could try to get a reservation at that upscale steakhouse downtown? Or maybe take a weekend trip up to the Catskills?"

Maya winced slightly, taking a sip of her coffee. "The steakhouse is like two hundred dollars a person now. And with the car repairs setting back our house fund last month..." She trailed off, offering a sympathetic smile. "I'd rather not stress about money, to be honest. Plus, you have that huge quarterly presentation on Monday."

"Fair point," Ben nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't want to spend Sunday night cramming spreadsheets in a cabin anyway. So, what’s the counter-proposal? Netflix and takeout feels a little underwhelming for five years."

"What if we recreate the beginning?" Maya suggested, her eyes brightening. "Our first real date. We go to the farmer's market in the morning, buy the ingredients for those terrible, over-spiced carnitas tacos we tried to make, and eat them on the living room floor."

Ben chuckled, the memory softening his face. "I burned the tortillas so badly we had to open all the windows. But I love the idea. We can get a really nice bottle of tequila with the money we save on a restaurant."

"Exactly," Maya smiled, closing her laptop. "It’s a date."


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the air was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Maya stood at the kitchen island, rhythmically chopping bell peppers, while Liam sorted through a stack of Tuesday mail.

"Hey," Liam said, tossing a credit card offer into the recycling bin. "The twelfth is next Friday. Five years."

Maya paused her knife and smiled. "I know. I actually looked at weekend flights to Asheville this morning, but the prices were completely wild."

"Yeah, and to be honest, I'm going to be exhausted after the quarterly review next Thursday," Liam said, moving to lean against the counter beside her. "I kind of just want to be here with you. What if we finally try that tasting menu at Il Posto instead of traveling?"

Maya scraped the chopped peppers into a glass bowl. "A tasting menu? Look at us, getting fancy. I thought you said you wanted a low-key weekend."

"I want to eat amazing food and not wash a single pan," Liam countered, pulling his phone from his pocket. "Plus, it’s half a decade. We should put on real clothes. Let me see if they even have a table."

Maya dried her hands on a dish towel, stepping around the island to look over his shoulder. "If they don't, we can always grab takeout from our usual Thai place and drive up to the botanical gardens on Saturday."

"Hold on," Liam murmured, tapping the screen. "Someone must have just canceled. They have an eight o'clock slot."

"Book it," Maya said immediately. She leaned in, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Fancy dinner Friday, sleep in Saturday. Sounds perfect."

Liam tapped the confirmation button and turned his head to kiss her cheek. "Happy early anniversary. I'll load the dishwasher tonight."


The rhythmic thwack of Maya’s knife against the cutting board filled the kitchen, underscoring the hum of the vent hood. Beside her, Liam stirred a simmering pot of marinara sauce, pausing to taste it with a wooden spoon.

"Needs more garlic," he muttered, reaching for another clove. He glanced over. "Hey, I realized on the drive home today—next Friday is the fifth."

Maya scraped diced onions into the pan, the oil sizzling instantly. "Five years. That feels like a milestone we shouldn’t just sleep through."

"Agreed," Liam said, leaning against the quartz counter. "Part of me wants to suggest booking a flight to Maui, but then I remembered we have to replace the HVAC unit before winter."

Maya laughed, drying her hands on a dish towel. "Yeah, sharing a mortgage really puts a damper on spontaneous tropical vacations. But we should still do something memorable. We haven't had a proper date night in months."

"What if we both take Friday off?" Liam suggested, handing her a glass of red wine. "Make it a long weekend. We could drive up to the Blue Ridge Mountains and rent a little cabin for two nights. Drink coffee on a porch, go for a long hike, completely unplug."

Maya took a sip, considering the idea. "No laptops? No checking work emails on our phones?"

"Strictly prohibited," Liam promised, gently bumping his shoulder against hers. "Just us, the dog, and way too much wine."

"A cabin actually sounds perfect," Maya said, a genuine smile breaking across her face. "But only if we stop at that absurdly expensive steakhouse on the drive up. The one we couldn’t afford when we first started dating."

"It's a deal," Liam said, clinking his glass against hers. "Happy early anniversary."


Maya leaned against the kitchen counter, cradling her mug of black coffee. She tapped the dry-erase calendar on the fridge. "Hey, next Friday is the tenth. Five years."

Liam looked up from his laptop at the kitchen island, adjusting his glasses. "Five years of putting up with my terrible cooking. We should do something big. Want to look at Airbnbs up in the Catskills?"

Maya smiled, walking over to sit beside him. "I thought about that, but with your project deadline and my parents visiting the week after, a whole weekend away sounds more exhausting than romantic right now."

"Fair point," Liam conceded, closing his laptop to give her his full attention. "What about that new tasting menu place downtown? The one with the three-month waitlist. I could probably beg my way in if I call them every day."

"And spend four hundred dollars to leave hungry?" Maya laughed. "We did the ultra-fancy dinner thing for year three. I spent half the night adjusting my dress, and you complained about the tiny portions."

"True. So, what’s the verdict? We can't just treat five years like a regular Friday night."

Maya traced the rim of her coffee mug, thinking. "What if we recreate the first date, but without the awkwardness? We can get takeout from that awful taco truck on 4th Street, buy a cheap bottle of Malbec, and bring it to the park."

"The park where it unexpectedly poured rain on us?" Liam asked, a nostalgic grin spreading across his face.

"Exactly. Except this time, we have the foresight to check the weather app. And if it rains, we eat tacos right here on the living room floor."

Liam leaned over and kissed her temple. "Tacos on the floor it is. Happy almost-anniversary, Maya."


Steam rose from the boiling pasta pot, fogging up the kitchen windows of Maya and Liam’s rented Seattle duplex. Maya leaned against the counter, absently peeling a carrot.

"So," she said, looking over at Liam, who was mincing garlic with practiced focus. "Next Saturday. Five years."

Liam scraped the garlic into a little bowl and wiped his hands on a dish towel. "I know. Half a decade. Have you thought about what you want to do? We could try to get a reservation at that new French place downtown."

Maya crinkled her nose. "Le Petit Chalet? It’s so stuffy in there. Plus, a hundred bucks for tiny plates of duck feels like a lot right now with the new living room furniture we just bought."

"Fair point," Liam agreed, leaning his hip against the counter next to her. "What about a weekend trip? Drive out to the Cascades, rent a cabin?"

"I love the idea," Maya sighed, "but neither of us can take Friday off, and just going for one night sounds exhausting with the drive."

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the bubbling water the only sound in the room.

"What if we just recreate our first date?" Liam suggested quietly. "Get takeout from the Thai place on 4th Avenue, grab a blanket, and eat it at the park by the lake. Assuming it doesn't pour."

Maya smiled, a genuine, warm expression that reached her eyes. "Pad Thai in the freezing wind, just like five years ago?"

"Exactly like five years ago," Liam laughed. "But this time, we can bring the good wine from the pantry and come back here to our own couch afterward."

"Perfect," Maya said, bumping her shoulder affectionately against his. "It's a date."


Rain lashed against the living room window, but inside their Seattle townhouse, it was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Liam leaned against the kitchen counter, stirring a pot of marinara, while Maya sat at the island, scrolling through her laptop.

"Hey," Maya said, peering over the top of her screen. "Next Friday is the twelfth. Five years."

Liam paused his stirring and smiled. "Half a decade. Two apartments, one dog, and a lot of shared grocery bills. We should do something big, right?"

"I was looking at reservations for that new tasting-menu place downtown," Maya said, turning her screen to show him the restaurant's website. "But honestly? Two hundred dollars a person feels a little steep, especially since we just paid off the new couch."

Liam nodded, turning the burner down to a simmer. "We could do a weekend trip? Head out to the coast like we did for year three."

Maya sighed, closing the laptop. "With my current project deadline at work, I don't think I have the energy to drive three hours out of the city. What if we just recreate our first date?"

"Spicy pad thai and that terrible zombie movie?" Liam laughed. "I don't know if my stomach can handle the spice level you ordered last time."

"Okay, compromise," Maya said, her eyes lighting up. "I still want an excuse to wear my new green dress. What if we get dressed up, go to that jazz lounge on Fourth Avenue for a couple of really nice cocktails, and then come back here to eat Thai takeout on the new couch?"

Liam walked over and kissed the top of her head. "Fancy drinks, sweatpants by eight, and noodles. Sounds like a perfect five years to me."


Morning sunlight filtered through the slightly crooked blinds of Maya and Leo’s shared apartment in Chicago, illuminating the dust motes dancing above the kitchen island. Leo leaned against the counter, absently scrolling through his phone, while Maya poured them both a second cup of dark roast coffee.

"Hey," Maya said, sliding a ceramic mug across the speckled granite. "Do you realize next weekend is the twelfth? It's five years."

Leo looked up, immediately locking his phone and pocketing it. "Five years. Half a decade of putting up with my terrible cooking." He smiled, stepping closer to wrap an arm around her waist. "We should do something big. A Michelin-star dinner downtown? Or maybe book a weekend cabin up in Door County?"

Maya leaned into him, considering the options while warming her hands on her mug. "A cabin sounds amazing," she admitted. "But with the Subaru needing new brakes this month, maybe a weekend getaway is pushing the budget right now."

"Fair point," Leo nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. "Practical as always. But I absolutely refuse to just order our usual pad thai and binge another true crime documentary. Not for five years. We have to commemorate the survival of this household."

Maya chuckled. "What if we recreate our first date?" she suggested, her eyes brightening. "We can walk through the botanical gardens in the afternoon, and then hit up that terrible dive bar on Fourth Street for greasy bacon burgers and a few games of pool."

Leo’s grin widened, familiar lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. "Only if I get to aggressively let you win at eight-ball again."

"I won fair and square," she teased. "So it's a plan?"

"It's a plan," Leo agreed. It wasn’t a lavish trip to Paris, but standing together in the quiet warmth of their kitchen, it felt exactly right.


Rain tapped gently against the kitchen window of Maya and Liam’s shared Seattle duplex. Maya leaned against the counter, absently stirring a pot of marinara sauce, while Liam sorted through a stack of mail at the small dining table.

"Hey," Liam said, tossing a grocery circular aside. "Next Friday is the twelfth. Five years."

Maya looked up, tapping her wooden spoon against the rim of the pot. "Five years since that terrible blind date at the bowling alley. It's still hard to believe we actually survived it."

Liam chuckled, sliding a utility bill into his 'to-pay' folder. "Speak for yourself. I bowled a 140. It was the absolute peak of my athletic career. So, what’s the plan? We should do something big, right? Weekend in wine country? A fancy dinner downtown where the appetizers cost thirty bucks?"

Maya turned down the stove's burner. She pictured the hassle of packing, the weekend traffic, and the dent a luxury trip would put in the joint savings account they were building for a down payment on a house.

"Wine country sounds nice in theory," Maya said, walking over and wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind. "But honestly? I've been so exhausted from work lately."

"Yeah, me too," Liam admitted, leaning back into her embrace with a sigh.

"What if we just recreate the first date, but better?" Maya suggested. "We hit the local lanes for an hour, order the greasiest pizza they have, and then come back here to open that nice bottle of Cabernet we bought in Napa last summer?"

Liam turned his head, smiling up at her. "Bowling shoes, cheap pepperoni, and vintage wine in our sweatpants. It sounds perfect."

"It’s a date," Maya said, kissing the top of his head before heading back to the stove.


Rain lashed against the living room window of Maya and Ben’s Chicago apartment, but the kitchen was warm. Maya leaned against the quartz counter, drying a ceramic bowl while Ben scrubbed a frying pan.

"So," Ben said, keeping his eyes on the suds. "Next Friday. Half a decade."

Maya smiled, setting the bowl down. "Five years. It feels weird to say. Do we need to do something huge? My mother keeps asking if you're taking me to that Michelin-star place downtown."

Ben rinsed the pan, shutting off the faucet. He dried his hands on a dish towel and turned to her. "We could. I looked at reservations. But honestly? It’s three hundred dollars a person, and we just had to replace the transmission in the Subaru."

"Oh, definitely not," Maya agreed quickly, relieved. She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I don't want to spend our anniversary stressing about our savings account. But I also don't want it to feel like just another Friday night of watching Netflix in sweatpants."

Ben rested his chin on the top of her head. "What if we compromise? We both take Friday off work. No laptops, no emails. We drive up and hike near Starved Rock in the morning, and on the way back, we grab takeout from that Thai place we went to the night we first moved in here."

Maya looked up at him, picturing the quiet, uninterrupted day. It sounded perfectly them—practical, intimate, and a thoughtful nod to their shared history.

"Pad see ew and a whole day out in the woods with you?" she asked, her smile widening. "That sounds a million times better than a fancy restaurant."

"It’s a date," Ben said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.


The kitchen island was a familiar, comfortable landscape of chopped onions and unopened mail. Liam leaned against the granite counter, tossing a pre-approved credit card offer into the recycling bin.

"Hey," he said, glancing at the calendar on his phone. "The fourteenth is exactly two weeks away. Five years."

Maya scraped the diced onions into a hot skillet, the sudden sizzle filling their apartment. "I know. Half a decade of cohabitation and putting up with your weird sock-folding logic. We should actually celebrate this year, right? Not just our usual Tuesday night Thai takeout?"

"Definitely," Liam agreed, handing her a wooden spoon. "We could try to get a reservation at L’Aura downtown. Dress up, do the whole seven-course tasting menu thing."

Maya stirred the vegetables, wrinkling her nose slightly. "L'Aura is a car payment for one dinner. Plus, I don't really want to spend our anniversary wearing heels and whispering over jazz music. What if we rented a cabin upstate for the weekend instead?"

"I'd love that, but my team's quarterly reviews start next week. I really can't swing taking a Friday off right now." Liam stepped closer, bumping his shoulder affectionately against hers. "What's the middle ground between a Michelin star and a sleeping bag?"

Maya turned the burner down, leaning against the stove. "What about a massive upgrade to our first date? We went to that cheap slice shop and watched terrible sci-fi. What if we get out the pizza stone, buy the really good mozzarella and imported prosciutto from the Italian market on 4th Street, and pair it with an actually expensive bottle of wine?"

Liam smiled, the slight tension of event-planning instantly leaving his posture. "Homemade gourmet pizza, an eighty-dollar Barolo, and *Dune*?"

"Exactly," Maya said, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "It’s perfectly us."


The Sunday morning sun spilled across the quartz countertop of their shared Chicago apartment as Maya scrolled casually through her digital calendar. Beside her, Leo was carefully measuring coffee beans, the familiar, loud hum of the burr grinder briefly drowning out the low jazz playing from the living room speaker.

"Hey," Maya said, looking up from her phone screen. "Next Friday is the twelfth. That’s five years."

Leo paused, the metal coffee scoop suspended in mid-air. "Five years. Half a decade under the same roof. We should probably do something a little bigger than our usual couch-and-Thai-takeout routine."

"Agreed," Maya said, leaning against the kitchen island. "I was looking at that new French place downtown. But then I saw the menu, and honestly, spending three hundred dollars on dinner feels irresponsible right now, especially with the car needing new brakes."

Leo nodded in agreement, tapping the grounds into the filter. "Fair point. We could do a quick weekend trip? Maybe drive up to Door County, get a little cabin?"

"Too much driving for a regular two-day weekend," Maya countered gently. "We'd spend half our anniversary sitting in interstate traffic."

"True." Leo poured the hot water, watching the dark coffee bloom. He leaned against the counter, facing her. "What if we compromise? We don't do takeout, but we don't go out to a restaurant either. We cook together. That complicated, all-day beef bourguignon recipe we've always been too tired to try, a moderately expensive bottle of wine, and absolutely no phones allowed."

Maya’s face brightened. "Only if we finally buy those nice vintage coupe glasses we saw at the antique mall for a pre-dinner cocktail."

"Perfect," Leo smiled, sliding a steaming mug toward her. "High-effort dining, sweatpants-level comfort."

"Five years," Maya laughed, warming her hands on the ceramic. "I wouldn't want it any other way."


Julian leaned against the kitchen counter, scrolling thoughtfully through his phone calendar. Outside their Chicago apartment window, the El train rattled past, momentarily vibrating the coffee mugs resting in the sink.

"Hey," Julian said, looking up. "Did you realize next Saturday is our five-year?"

Maya paused pulling clean clothes from the dryer. She rested a basket of warm laundry on her hip and sighed, a fond smile tugging at her mouth. "Five years. Half a decade of you stealing the good pillows. We should probably do something special."

"I was looking at reservations for that new French place downtown," Julian offered, though his tone was hesitant. "But the tasting menu is two hundred dollars a person."

Maya wrinkled her nose, walking over to set the basket on the kitchen island. "That’s our entire grocery budget for two weeks. Plus, remember what happened last time we tried a fancy tasting menu? I was so hungry we had to get drive-thru tacos on the way home."

Julian laughed, wrapping an arm around her waist. "The Taco Bell run of 2021. I remember."

"What if we just take a drive up to Starved Rock State Park?" Maya suggested, pulling out a towel and folding it. "We can pack a picnic, hike up to the waterfalls, and just be away from the city for the afternoon. No screens, no overpriced, tiny portions of food."

Julian’s shoulders relaxed. The pressure of planning a grand, expensive romantic gesture completely melted away. "A hike sounds perfect. And," he added, his eyes glinting, "we can pick up tacos on the way back. For tradition."

"Deal," Maya said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "Happy early anniversary."

"Happy early anniversary," Julian replied, taking a warm towel from her hands to help her fold.


The morning sun filtered through the blinds of Maya and Leo’s shared townhouse in Seattle, warming the quartz kitchen island where they sat surrounded by Sunday crossword puzzles and half-empty coffee mugs.

"Next Friday is the big five," Maya said, tapping her pen against the edge of her ceramic mug. "Five years. Half a decade. We need a game plan before all the good reservations are gone."

Leo looked up from his laptop, a slow, affectionate smile spreading across his face. "Wow. Five years since that disastrous blind date at the bowling alley." He closed his screen. "I was thinking about booking a table at that new French place downtown. Or, if we want to go bigger, we could look into renting a weekend cabin up in the Cascades?"

Maya considered the options, leaning her chin on her hand. "A cabin sounds amazing, but with the emergency vet bill for the dog last month, maybe we shouldn't splurge on a getaway right now. And honestly? I don't really want to wear heels or yell across a crowded restaurant table just to hear you talk."

"Fair point," Leo said, nodding. He reached across the island to trace the knuckles of her hand. "So, what’s the alternative? We can't just order our usual takeout and watch a movie. It's a milestone."

"What if we elevate staying in?" Maya suggested, her eyes brightening. "We take Friday off work. We drive down to the market, buy the most ridiculously expensive seafood we can find, and spend the evening cooking it together. We can finally open that fancy bottle of wine your parents gave us for the housewarming."

Leo squeezed her hand. "Crab legs, a vintage Cabernet,


Maya stood at the kitchen island of their shared Chicago apartment, slicing bell peppers while Liam stirred a simmering pot of vegetarian chili. Outside, a crisp October wind rattled the windowpanes.

"Hey," Liam said, tapping his wooden spoon against the pot. "Next Friday is the twelfth. Five years."

Maya paused her knife, a soft smile breaking across her face. "Half a decade. We survived a pandemic, two nightmare apartment moves, and your brief but intense obsession with sourdough starters."

"That bread sustained us," Liam protested, laughing. "So, what’s the plan? We usually book a fancy dinner downtown, but between work and the commute lately, I'm honestly a little burnt out on crowded restaurants."

"Me too," Maya agreed, sweeping the chopped peppers into his pan with a loud sizzle. "Plus, we agreed to save up for the bathroom renovation. What if we keep it low-key this year?"

Liam leaned against the counter, crossing his arms thoughtfully. "I'm on board. What if we recreate our first date? We could get takeout from that terrible taco place..."

"...and eat it on the living room floor while watching awful B-movies?" Maya finished, her eyes lighting up. "I actually love that. But let's upgrade the food. We should get Taqueria El Rey instead of the sad late-night drive-thru."

"Deal," Liam said, playfully bumping his shoulder against hers. "Good food, bad movies, and absolutely no dress code. I’ll pick up the tacos if you queue up the worst sci-fi movie you can find on streaming."

Maya chuckled, turning back to the cutting board. It wasn't a lavish getaway, and they didn't need a diamond ring to validate the milestone. As the warm scent of cumin and garlic filled their kitchen, a quiet evening on the rug together


Leo was methodically scraping the last of the peanut butter from the jar when Maya leaned against the kitchen island, scrolling through her phone's calendar.

"Hey," she said, looking up as the morning light caught the steam rising from her mug. "Do you realize the twelfth is exactly five years?"

Leo paused, the butter knife hovering over his sourdough toast. "Five years since the infamous rainstorm date?" he asked, referencing the miserable but hilarious night they had first met. "Wow. Half a decade. We should do something actual adults do to celebrate. Like a big trip."

Maya sighed, tracing the rim of her coffee cup. "I originally thought about a long weekend in Napa. But between the new water heater we had to put on the joint card last month and my total lack of PTO right now, planning a trip honestly just feels stressful."

"Fair point," Leo agreed, tossing the empty plastic jar into the recycling bin. "And those six-course tasting menus always leave us feeling completely stuffed and slightly broke. Remember that pretentious French place last year?"

Maya laughed, a warm, familiar sound. "I had indigestion for two days." She took a thoughtful sip of her coffee. "What if we just recreated the rainstorm date instead? We could walk down to that terrible dive bar on Fourth Street, order the stale nachos, and then upgrade the experience by coming back here for a genuinely good bottle of wine?"

Leo’s face lit up. "Only if we purposely leave our umbrellas at home." He walked around the island and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, kissing her temple. "I love it. Dive bar nachos, a fantastic cabernet, and maybe we can finally frame that photobooth strip from our first apartment."

"Perfect," Maya smiled, leaning into his chest. "It’s a date."


Maya chopped onions for the evening's chili while Julian leaned against the kitchen island, scrolling through his phone.

"So," Julian said, tapping the screen. "Next Friday is the twelfth. Five years."

Maya paused her knife and scraped the onions into a sizzling cast-iron pan. "Five years of you completely ignoring the existence of the laundry hamper." She wiped her hands on a dish towel, a soft smile breaking through. "Did you want to do something big? Five is kind of a milestone."

Julian crossed his arms, considering the steam rising from the stove. "We could try to get a last-minute reservation at that new French place downtown. Though, with the unexpected vet bill for Buster last month..."

"Yeah, no," Maya said quickly, shaking her head. "Three hundred dollars for tiny plates of duck doesn't sound very fun to me right now."

"Agreed." Julian pushed off the counter and took the wooden spoon from her, stirring the onions so she could step back. "What if we just took Friday off from work? We could drive up to Shenandoah, rent one of those little A-frame cabins, and actually use that fancy cooler my parents got us for Christmas."

Maya leaned sideways against his shoulder, picturing the scenario. "A cabin in the woods. Sweatpants, absolutely no cell service, and sitting on a quiet porch?"

"Exactly," Julian said, wrapping his free arm around her waist. "Just us. We can save the overpriced tasting menus and stiff clothes for year ten."

Maya rested her head against him, feeling the familiar, comforting warmth of his chest. It sounded perfect—far better than a crowded, noisy restaurant. "Book the cabin," she told him. "But I’m still buying the expensive wine."


Rain streaked the kitchen window as Maya leaned against the counter, swirling the last of her morning coffee. "You realize next Friday is five years, right?" she asked, looking across the granite island at Sam.

Sam looked up from his laptop, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Of course I do. Half a decade. I was actually just looking at restaurants." He turned the screen toward her, displaying the reservation page for an upscale French bistro downtown.

Maya grimaced slightly, though her eyes were fond. "Two hundred dollars a person? Sam, we just had to replace the HVAC system last month."

"It's a big milestone," Sam countered, though he gently closed the laptop lid. "But you're right. It's probably not the best time for a seven-course tasting menu. What did you have in mind?"

Maya walked over and sat on the stool beside him. "Honestly? I’d rather do something that actually feels like us. What if we just go back to the taco truck where we ended up on our first date? We can take the food to the park, just like we did then."

Sam smiled, the slight tension leaving his shoulders. "Al pastor tacos on a park bench. It’s definitely cheaper than French cuisine."

"And," Maya added, bumping her shoulder against his, "we can take the money we save and put it into the fund for that Asheville cabin trip this fall."

Sam nodded slowly, his smile widening. "Tacos next Friday, mountain views in October. I like the sound of that. But I get to order the good guacamole."

"Deal," Maya said. She leaned over to kiss him, feeling a deep, quiet contentment. Five years didn't need to be marked by white tablecloths; it just needed to be them.


The scent of dark roast coffee filled the kitchen of Maya and Liam’s Chicago apartment. Rain tapped against the frosted window, a typical chilly April morning. Maya leaned against the granite counter, warming her hands around her ceramic mug.

"So, next weekend is the big five," she said, watching Liam carefully scrape scrambled eggs from a cast-iron skillet onto two plates.

"Five years," Liam mused, handing her a plate. "Half a decade of me leaving my boots in the hallway, and you pretending not to notice."

"Oh, I notice," Maya laughed, nudging his shoulder. "But seriously, what are we doing? We haven't actually planned anything."

They moved to the small dining table, sliding into their usual seats. Liam thoughtfully chewed a bite of his breakfast. "We could try for that tasting menu downtown. I know we talked about going all out this year."

Maya hesitated, tracing the rim of her coffee cup. "I looked at the reservations. It’s completely booked for Saturday, and honestly? Dropping five hundred dollars on dinner right after we just paid for those car repairs feels a little stressful."

"Fair point," Liam agreed, nodding easily. "We don't need a fancy dinner to validate five years. What if we recreate our first road trip instead? We could drive up to Door County, get a cheap Airbnb by the water, and just hike."

Maya’s face lit up, the financial tension instantly leaving her shoulders. "I love that idea. Just us, the dog, and a ridiculous amount of wine and cheese from that little farm stand."

"Exactly," Liam smiled, pulling his phone from his pocket. "Let’s see what's available. We can hit the road Friday after work."

Maya reached across the table, squeezing his hand. It wasn't a diamond ring or a Michelin-starred meal, but as they scrolled through cozy weekend cabins together, she knew it was exactly the celebration they needed.


Morning sunlight poured through the kitchen blinds as Maya set two mugs of dark roast coffee on the granite island. Across from her, Liam was scrolling absentmindedly through his phone, pausing suddenly on the calendar app.

"Hey," Liam said, looking up. "Next Friday. It's five years."

Maya stopped wiping the counter, a soft smile breaking across her face. "Five years since we officially decided to tolerate each other full-time. We should probably do something slightly more special than our usual Friday night Pad Thai."

"I was thinking the exact same thing," Liam agreed, wrapping his hands around the warm mug. "We could book an Airbnb up the coast? Head up to Carmel for the weekend?"

Maya sighed, leaning against the counter. "I'd love that, I really would. But after replacing the house's HVAC unit last month, our joint savings account is looking a little sad. Maybe we stay local?"

"Fair point. Fancy dinner downtown?"

"Honestly, paying a hundred dollars for a steak doesn't sound that fun either," Maya said, taking a sip of her coffee. "What about recreating our first date? Tacos from that truck by the pier, then taking a walk by the water?"

Liam chuckled. "Maya, that taco truck closed two years ago. It’s a boutique pet bakery now."

"Right. I forgot."

"Tell you what," Liam offered, his eyes brightening with a sudden idea. "What if we make the tacos ourselves? We'll find a recipe for al pastor, put on that terrible mid-2000s indie playlist we listened to on the drive, and finally open that bottle of Cabernet we bought in Napa."

Maya’s smile returned, wider this time. "Home-cooked tacos, old playlists, and actual good wine? It’s a date." She reached across the island to squeeze his hand. "Happy early anniversary."


Maya chopped bell peppers at the kitchen island while Liam leaned against the counter, scrolling through the calendar on his phone.

"Hey," Liam said, looking up. "Next weekend is the twelfth. Five years."

Maya paused her chopping, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Five years. Half a decade since that terrible bowling date."

"I let you win," Liam teased, stealing a slice of red pepper from the cutting board. "So, what’s the plan? We should do something big. Maybe book a weekend trip up to Napa? Or finally try that Michelin-starred tasting menu downtown?"

Maya wiped her hands on a dish towel, leaning her weight against the granite. "Napa sounds amazing, but with the new furnace installation we just paid for, maybe we shouldn't splurge quite that hard right now. And honestly, a three-hour stiff-collar dinner sounds exhausting after the week I've had at the clinic."

Liam nodded, his shoulders visibly relaxing. "Fair point. I don't really want to wear a tie on our anniversary anyway."

"What if we keep it local?" Maya suggested, stepping closer to him. "We could hike up to the observatory in the morning. Then, for dinner, we get takeout from the Thai place we ordered from the first night we moved in here, and crack open that expensive bottle of wine your sister got us for Christmas."

Liam wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in. "A hike, Pad Thai, and fancy wine in our sweatpants. That actually sounds perfect."

"We can even play the bowling game on the Switch," Maya laughed. "So I can beat you again."

"Deal," Liam said, kissing her forehead. "I'll put the wine in the fridge. Five down, a lifetime to go."


Maya leaned against the granite kitchen island, the steam from her coffee mug fogging the lenses of her glasses. "Hey," she said, tapping her phone screen. "Did you realize the twelfth is next Friday?"

Leo looked up from the stove, where he was expertly flipping a pair of over-easy eggs. He paused, spatula in hand, and did the mental math. "Wait. That’s five years."

"Half a decade," Maya agreed, a soft smile breaking across her face. "Since that terrible blind date at the bowling alley."

Leo slid the eggs onto two plates and brought them over. "I thought my rental shoes added a certain rustic charm," he joked, sliding onto a barstool beside her. "So, what’s the plan? We should probably do something bigger than our usual Thai takeout, right? Five years feels like a real milestone."

Maya cut into her breakfast, watching the yolk spill over her toast. "It does. I actually looked up that French place downtown, but the tasting menu is almost two hundred dollars a person. With us trying to save for a better car right now, it feels a little irresponsible."

"Fair," Leo said, chewing thoughtfully. "What if we compromise? We don't need a Michelin star to celebrate. How about we look for a cheap cabin near Shenandoah for Saturday night? We can hike during the day, grill some nice steaks together, and just actually unplug."

Maya’s eyes lit up. Between her grueling nursing shifts and Leo’s endless remote meetings, uninterrupted time was a rare luxury. "No laptops?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Absolutely no laptops," Leo promised, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "Just us, the mountains, and a decent bottle of wine."

"Perfect," Maya said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "But I'm picking the wine."


The rhythmic chopping of onions filled the small galley kitchen as Maya prepared Tuesday night’s chili. Sitting at the cramped breakfast bar, Liam tapped away on his laptop, occasionally reading off the upcoming weather forecast.

"It’s going to rain all weekend," Liam noted, closing his browser. "Which makes me think we need a solid plan for Saturday. It’s five years, Maya. Half a decade."

Maya scraped the diced onions into the sizzling cast-iron pot, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "I know. I was looking at that French place downtown, *Le Petit Chou*. But honestly? The tasting menu is two hundred dollars a person."

"Yeah, and you hate wearing heels," Liam pointed out with a wry smile.

"Exactly." Maya leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. "I want to celebrate us, but I don't want to feel stiff. And honestly, part of me wants to just take that money and put it toward the deck repair."

Liam chuckled, shutting his laptop completely. "Nothing says romance like pressure-treated lumber. But no, we aren't doing house chores for our anniversary. We need an actual memory." He paused, looking at the rain-streaked window over the sink. "What about a cabin up in the Catskills? Just a cheap Airbnb, a woodstove, and whatever wine we can grab at the grocery store. No reservations, no dress code."

Maya’s face softened, the stress of the workday visibly melting away. "We haven't been to the mountains since we first signed the lease on this place."

"Exactly," Liam said, pulling out his phone to start searching. "I’ll find us a place with a decent kitchen. You bring your chili recipe, I’ll handle the playlist."

Maya smiled, walking over to press a quick, garlic-scented kiss to his forehead. "Perfect. Five years, and you finally learned my ideal date."


The rhythmic chop of Liam’s knife against the cutting board filled the small kitchen. From the living room sofa, Maya looked up from her laptop, the glow of the screen reflecting in her glasses.

"Hey," she called out, stretching her arms above her head. "Next Saturday is the fifteenth."

Liam paused, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel, and walked over to lean against the doorway. "Five years. Half a decade. We should probably do something a little bigger than our usual pizza and weekend errands."

"Agreed," Maya smiled. "But how big? I know we talked about finally trying that new French tasting menu downtown."

Liam considered it, crossing his arms. "We did. But it’s almost two hundred dollars a person. With us trying to build up the house down-payment fund, I don't know if I can stomach a four-hundred-dollar dinner right now."

"Honestly, I’m relieved you said that," Maya sighed, closing her laptop. "I want to celebrate us, but I don't want to stress about our budget while we're eating."

"What if we compromise?" Liam suggested, walking over to sit beside her on the cushions. "We don't do the crazy expensive restaurant, but we don't just sit on the couch, either. We could drive up to the state park for a long hike in the morning, the way we did on our first anniversary."

"And for dinner?" Maya asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We get takeout from that amazing sushi place—the one that’s a little too pricey for a regular Tuesday—and finally open that bottle of wine your parents gave us for Christmas."

Maya’s smile widened, and she leaned over to rest her head against his shoulder. "A hike, fancy sushi in our sweatpants, and free wine. It sounds like the perfect five years."


Maya leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Ben chop bell peppers for their Tuesday night fajitas. The sizzle of the pan filled their small Chicago apartment, a familiar soundtrack to their shared routine.

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

Ben paused, his knife hovering over the cutting board, and smiled. "Five years. Half a decade since that terrible blind date at the bowling alley."

"I still maintain you let me win," she laughed. "But we need a plan. Are we doing the fancy dinner thing? Steaks, white tablecloths, stressing over finding parking downtown?"

Ben swept the peppers into the skillet. "We could. But honestly, dropping two hundred dollars just to eat a tiny steak sounds exhausting right now. Plus, we're supposed to be saving for the new sofa."

Maya nodded, secretly relieved. She loved dressing up, but the pressure of a milestone anniversary often felt forced, especially at the end of a long work week. "Agreed. What if we took Friday off instead? A long weekend, just us."

"A staycation?" Ben asked, turning the stove down to a simmer.

"Exactly. We can drive up and hike the trails at Starved Rock in the morning before the crowds get there. Then we come back, order an absurd amount of takeout from that Thai place we love, and finally open the good bottle of wine my parents gave us for Christmas."

Ben wiped his hands on a dish towel, walking over to wrap his arms loosely around her waist. "Hiking, Pad Thai, and not wearing real pants by six p.m.? It sounds perfect."

"It's a date, then," Maya said, leaning into him. Five years hadn't brought a ring or a mortgage yet, but as she breathed in the familiar scent of spices and him, she knew exactly where she wanted to be.


The morning sun angled through the kitchen blinds, warming the worn oak table where Maya and Liam sat with their Sunday coffee. Between them rested a shared calendar app on Liam’s tablet, the upcoming Friday circled in digital red. Five years.

"So," Liam said, leaning back in his chair and wrapping both hands around his mug. "Half a decade. Do we want to do the tasting menu at Le Petit Corbeau? I know we talked about it back in January."

Maya paused, her thumb hovering over the rim of her cup. She looked around their kitchen, eyes lingering on the half-painted cabinets they’d been working on all month. "I thought about it," she admitted. "But honestly? Dropping three hundred dollars on tiny plates feels like a lot right now. Especially with the hardware store trips we've been making."

"Fair point," Liam smiled, looking entirely relieved. "I love you, but I wasn't looking forward to wearing a tie after the week I've had."

"Me neither. Heels are definitely out," Maya laughed. "What if we do something a little closer to home? We could finally use that pasta maker your mom got us for Christmas. Grab a really good bottle of Barolo, make a massive mess of the kitchen..."

"And then completely refuse to clean it up until Saturday morning?" Liam offered, raising an eyebrow.

"Exactly." Maya reached across the table, lacing her fingers through his. "Maybe we can drive up to the state park on Saturday, take the dog on the long trail, and just unplug for the day."

"Homemade pasta and a hike." Liam squeezed her hand. "It sounds perfect. I'll pick up the wine on Thursday. You find a recipe that won't completely intimidate us."

"Deal," she said, the fancy restaurant already forgotten, perfectly content exactly where they were.


The smell of roasting garlic filled the kitchen as Mark stirred the simmering pasta sauce. Sitting at their shared butcher-block island, Lena sifted through the Tuesday mail, tossing a stack of grocery circulars into the recycling bin.

"Hey," Lena said, pausing on a utility bill. "Next Friday is the twelfth. Five years."

Mark lowered the heat on the stove and turned around, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "Half a decade. We should probably do something special, right? I can look at Airbnbs up in Asheville for the weekend."

Lena smiled, tapping her pen against the countertop. "I'd love that, but honestly, after paying for the new water heater last month, a mountain weekend feels a little steep right now. What if we just do a really nice dinner out? We haven't been downtown in ages."

"We could finally try that tasting menu at The Alder," Mark suggested, leaning against the counter. "Though, I have to admit, my secret backup plan was opening that expensive bottle of Cabernet we brought back from California, ordering a ridiculous amount of sushi, and not putting on hard pants."

Lena laughed, instantly recognizing the appeal of the second option. They had bought the house together two years ago, intertwining their lives and finances without the traditional fanfare of a wedding. Their favorite moments together were usually the quietest ones.

"How about a compromise?" Lena asked. "We actually get dressed up, go to The Alder for fancy cocktails and appetizers at the bar, and then come back here for the Cabernet and the sushi by the fire pit?"

Mark’s face lit up. "Best of both worlds. I'll make the reservation for the drinks." He turned back to the stove. "Five years. Not bad, roomie."

"Not bad at all," she replied.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the smell of roasting garlic made the space feel warm. Maya leaned against the kitchen island, watching Liam stir the simmering pasta sauce.

"So," Maya said, taking a sip of her red wine. "Next Friday. Five years."

Liam looked up, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Half a decade. We probably shouldn't just order Thai food and fall asleep to a true-crime documentary like last year."

"Hey, I liked that documentary," Maya laughed, setting her glass down. "But yes, I agree. We should do something actual. A milestone requires leaving the house."

"I looked into that fancy tasting menu downtown," Liam offered, turning down the heat on the stove. "But honestly? It’s four hundred dollars a person, and I think I'd rather put that toward the new couch fund."

Maya visibly relaxed. "Oh, thank God. I was looking at weekend cabins in Wisconsin, but the decent ones are completely booked, and the rest look like horror movie sets."

Liam chuckled, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "So, no Michelin stars and no haunted cabins. What’s the middle ground?"

Maya thought for a moment, listening to the rain hit the glass. "What if we recreate our first date? Go to that cramped little bowling alley, drink terrible draft beer, and then get late-night tacos at the truck on 4th Street?"

"Only if I get to beat you by forty points again," Liam teased, walking around the island to wrap an arm around her waist.

"It was twenty points, and I was distracted," Maya replied, leaning into his shoulder.

"Bowling and tacos it is," Liam said softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Happy early anniversary."


The morning sun warmed the terra-cotta tiles of Maya and Liam’s kitchen as they navigated their familiar Sunday routine. Maya leaned against the counter, nursing a mug of dark roast, watching Liam expertly flip a pancake.

"So," Maya said, tracing the rim of her mug. "Next weekend. Five years."

Liam glanced up, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Half a decade. It feels like we should do something a little bigger than our usual couch-and-takeout routine." He slid the pancake onto a plate. "We could drive up to the Berkshires? Get a cabin with a fireplace for the weekend?"

Maya considered it, looking around the kitchen they had painstakingly renovated together last summer. "A trip sounds amazing, but honestly, between my project deadline and your parents visiting the week after, packing and driving might just stress us out."

Liam wiped his hands on a dish towel and leaned next to her. "Fair point. So, what’s the alternative? Fancy tasting menu downtown?"

"Maybe," Maya said, nudging his shoulder with hers. "Or... we could recreate the night we first moved in here. Remember? We had no furniture, just the mattress on the floor in the living room."

Liam chuckled. "And we ordered from that terrible Thai place down the street."

"Exactly. But instead of terrible pad thai, we finally attempt that ridiculous beef Wellington recipe we’ve been intimidated by," Maya suggested. "Buy a great bottle of wine, turn off our phones, and actually use the dining room."

"A culinary challenge and zero packing," Liam said, his eyes lighting up. "I like it. But I'm buying a really good bottle of wine. Top-shelf."

"Deal," Maya smiled, lifting her coffee mug to clink against his glass. "Happy almost five years."

"Happy five years," Liam replied, pulling her in for a quick, flour-dusted kiss.


The scent of roasting garlic filled their cramped Seattle kitchen as Maya chopped celery and Liam stirred the risotto.

"So," Liam said, tapping his wooden spoon on the edge of the pot. "Next Friday. Five years."

Maya paused her knife, glancing up at him. "I know. Half a decade. Have you thought about what we should do?"

"I was looking at that new French place downtown," Liam offered, leaning against the counter. "Le Petit Chalet? But reservations are booked out for a month, and honestly, a hundred dollars for a steak feels steep right now with the roof repairs."

Maya nodded, scraping the chopped vegetables into a bowl. "Agreed. I love a good dinner, but I don't want to spend our anniversary stressed about the credit card bill."

"We could do a quick weekend trip," Liam suggested. "Drive down to Portland? Get a nice Airbnb?"

"With my big quarterly presentation on Monday? I'd be distracted the whole time." Maya set her knife down and wiped her hands on a dish towel. She walked over, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. "What if we just keep it simple? We could take Friday off, hike the Rattlesnake Ledge trail like we did on our first date, and then order excessive amounts of Thai takeout."

Liam smiled, covering her hands with his own. "Hike in the morning, pad thai in sweatpants by evening?"

"Exactly. Plus, we still have that cheap bottle of prosecco we bought on New Year's and never opened."

"It’s a date," Liam said, turning his head to press a kiss to her cheek. "Honestly, that sounds way better than a fancy steak anyway."

Maya smiled, returning to her cutting board. Five years in, she thought, and they still knew exactly how to make each other happy.


Sunlight streamed through the kitchen blinds, illuminating the steam rising from Maya’s coffee mug. She leaned against the counter, watching Liam scrape the last of the scrambled eggs from the cast-iron skillet onto their plates.

"So," Maya said, taking a warm sip. "Next weekend. Five years."

Liam smiled, handing her a plate. "Five years of you stealing all the hot water. We should probably do something to celebrate. A Michelin-star dinner? A weekend trip to Napa?"

Maya chuckled, taking a seat at their small wooden dining table. "Napa sounds amazing, but with the bathroom renovation eating up our savings, I think flights to California are out of the question."

"Fair point," Liam said, sitting across from her. "And honestly, those fancy tasting-menu places always leave me needing a slice of pizza on the drive home anyway. What if we kept it local?"

"Local is good," Maya agreed, cutting into her eggs. "But I don't want to just do our usual Friday night Thai takeout and a movie. Five years of living in sin is a big deal."

Liam thoughtfully tapped his fork against his plate. "Remember that little A-frame cabin we rented up in the Catskills our second year together? The one with the drafty windows but the amazing fire pit?"

Maya’s eyes lit up. "I loved that place. We spent the whole weekend playing Scrabble and drinking cheap wine."

"I looked it up last night," Liam confessed, his smile widening. "It’s actually available next weekend. We could drive up Friday after work, grill out, and just be together. No renovation dust, no work emails."

Maya reached across the table, her fingers interlacing with his. "A quiet weekend in the woods sounds perfect. Book it."

Liam squeezed her hand. "Done."


Maya sat cross-legged on the faded gray sofa, her laptop glowing in the dim light of their Seattle apartment. Across the coffee table, Julian was meticulously sorting a stack of mail, tossing supermarket flyers into the recycling bin.

"Hey," Maya said, looking up from her screen. "Next weekend is the twelfth. Five years."

Julian paused, a handful of envelopes in his hand. He smiled, the lines around his eyes crinkling. "Half a decade. We should probably do more than order Pad Thai and fall asleep to a nature documentary this time."

"Agreed," Maya laughed, closing her laptop. "I was thinking maybe a weekend trip? We could drive up to the San Juan Islands. Rent a little cabin."

Julian sat down next to her, slinging an arm over the back of the couch. "A cabin sounds amazing, but with the Subaru needing new brakes next month, maybe we should keep it local. What if we finally do a really nice dinner downtown? That French place we’ve been pointing at since we moved in together."

Maya leaned her head against his shoulder, considering it. "It's pretty expensive, but definitely cheaper than a weekend getaway."

"Exactly," Julian said. "And we can actually dress up. I haven't worn a suit since my sister's wedding, and you have that velvet dress you bought for New Year's."

"Okay, fancy French dinner it is," Maya agreed, lacing her fingers through his. "But we are absolutely getting a good bottle of wine to split here on the patio beforehand."

"Deal." Julian kissed the top of her head. "I'll make the reservation tomorrow. Five years, Maya. That's a big one."

"It is," she said softly, squeezing his hand. "Pad Thai on the thirteenth, though?"

"Obviously."


Rain lashed against the living room window, blurring the streetlights of their Seattle neighborhood. Maya sat cross-legged on the sofa, her laptop glowing in the dim room, while Leo methodically folded laundry on the floor.

"So, next Friday is five years," Maya said, glancing up from her budgeting spreadsheet. "We should probably figure out what we’re doing before all the good dinner reservations are gone."

Leo paused, a half-folded towel in his hands. "Five years. It feels like we should do something bigger than just a regular dinner, right? But I also don't really want to spend four hundred dollars on a tiny tasting menu."

Maya smiled, shutting her laptop. "Agreed. Plus, we’re still saving for the kitchen remodel. What if we do a weekend trip? We could rent a cabin out by the Cascades."

"I'd love that, but I have to work next Saturday morning," Leo sighed, tossing the towel into the basket. He walked over and sat beside her, leaning his head against her shoulder. "I'm sorry. The clinic's scheduling is a total mess right now."

"It's okay. We share a house and a dog; I think our relationship is secure enough not to need a massive grand gesture," Maya reasoned, running a hand through his hair. "What if we just stay here? We can buy those ridiculously expensive steaks from the butcher down the street, open that bottle of wine your sister got us for Christmas, and completely disconnect. No phones, no emails."

Leo looked up, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "Steak, good wine, and absolutely no screens? Honestly, that sounds better than a crowded restaurant anyway."

"It’s a date," Maya said, kissing his forehead. "I'll handle the butcher, you handle the wine. Now, are you going to help me fold the fitted sheets?"


Maya scraped the diced onions into the sizzling skillet, the sharp scent filling the kitchen of the Seattle townhouse she shared with Liam. He was leaning against the counter, casually uncorking a bottle of Tuesday-night Cabernet.

"So," Liam said, pouring two glasses. "Next Saturday. Five years."

Maya accepted her glass with a warm smile. "Five years. Half a decade since that terrible blind date at the bowling alley."

"I thought my gutter balls were endearing," Liam laughed, taking a sip. "Have you thought about what you want to do? We could drive down to Portland for the weekend. Or finally try that ten-course tasting menu at The Corson."

Maya stirred the onions, considering. The tasting menu sounded amazing, but their shared savings account was currently earmarked for replacing their temperamental HVAC system before winter.

"I love the Portland idea," Maya said gently, "but honestly? Between work and the furnace fund, a big trip feels stressful right now. And spending three hundred dollars on dinner makes me flinch."

Liam nodded, leaning in to bump his shoulder against hers. "Fair point. A working furnace takes priority over fancy scallops. What if we do a high-low night?"

Maya looked at him, intrigued. "Explain."

"We go to the wine shop and get a really fantastic bottle—like, actually good, not grocery-store good." He gestured to the cheap wine on the counter. "Then we order takeout from that ridiculous taco truck downtown, come back here, and watch the movie we saw on our third date."

Maya felt a quiet settling in her chest. Five years wasn't just a milestone; it was this—knowing exactly how to balance romance with the reality of their shared life.

"Tacos, expensive wine, and our own couch," Maya said. "It’s a perfect plan."


The morning sun filtered through the blinds of their rented Austin bungalow, catching the steam rising from Maya’s mug. She tucked her feet under her on the worn sectional and looked across the coffee table at Julian, who was casually scrolling through a hardware store app.

"Hey," Maya said, tapping her phone screen. "Next Saturday is the twelfth. Five years."

Julian looked up, immediately setting his phone face-down. "Wow. Half a decade. We should do something big to celebrate. Fancy dinner downtown? Maybe that sushi tasting menu we’ve been talking about since we moved in?"

Maya smiled, though she hesitated. "I’d love to dress up, but a three-hundred-dollar dinner feels a little heavy right now, especially with the unexpected vet bill from last week." She gestured toward their aging golden retriever, sleeping heavily by the front door.

Julian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Fair point. So, what’s the alternative? Sweatpants and takeout? It’s our five-year, May. I feel like it deserves a little better than our usual Pad Thai on the couch."

"What if we did a day trip?" Maya suggested, her eyes brightening. "Drive out to the Hill Country. We could hike Enchanted Rock in the morning, grab some brisket at that spot in Llano, and then find a winery with a nice patio. It’s an experience, it gets us out of the house, but we aren’t dropping a car payment on it."

Julian tilted his head, considering it. "A hike, ribs, and wine," he mused. "You know, that actually sounds a lot more like us than a stiff fine-dining room, anyway."

"Exactly," Maya said.

"Alright, it's a date," Julian said, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. "But I'm paying for the wine. And we're buying a ridiculously expensive bottle to bring back home."

Maya laughed. "Deal."


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the smell of roasting garlic made the small space feel warm. Maya leaned against the kitchen island, watching Leo stir the risotto.

"So, next Friday," she said, taking a sip of her red wine. "Five years. Half a decade of you stealing the good pillows."

Leo chuckled, tapping the wooden spoon against the edge of the pot. "You officially surrendered those pillows when we signed this lease. But seriously, what are we doing for it? Five years is a big deal."

"It is," Maya agreed, setting her glass down. "My mom keeps asking if we're doing a fancy trip. I looked at cabins in Wisconsin, but the weekend prices are ridiculous right now."

"We could do that new French place downtown," Leo suggested, though the slight grimace on his face gave him away. "Dress up, spend a week’s grocery budget on one meal?"

Maya laughed. "You hate wearing a tie, and I’d just be stressing about spilling sauce on a nice dress. Plus, we're trying to save up for the backyard patio furniture."

Leo turned down the stove's heat. "Okay, so no overpriced steaks and no pricey cabins. What if we just recreate our first date? But upgraded."

Maya smiled, the memory surfacing instantly. "Thai takeout and a terrible horror movie?"

"Exactly," Leo said, turning to face her. "But this time, we get the massive seafood Pad Thai, splurge on that expensive bottle of Pinot we’ve been eyeing at the corner shop, and rent a movie that's actually good. We can even build a blanket fort in the living room."

"A blanket fort?" Maya raised an eyebrow. "Using the good pillows?"

"For our fifth anniversary?" Leo grinned. "I'll allow it."

"It's a date," she said, feeling a surge of quiet contentment. It was perfectly them.