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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Rain tapped gently against the living room window of Maya and Leo’s third-floor Brooklyn apartment, making their decision to stay in feel entirely justified. Today marked exactly four years since their first date, and neither had any desire to fight through Friday night traffic for a crowded restaurant reservation.

"I picked up the good Gouda," Leo announced, hip-bumping the refrigerator door shut. He set a brown paper grocery bag on the kitchen island. "And that Pinot Noir we found in Willamette last summer."

"Perfect," Maya said. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and peered into the bag. "I’ve got the pasta dough resting. It should be ready to roll out by the time we finish the cheese board."

They moved in a comfortable rhythm, a choreography born from three years of cohabitation. While Maya began slicing pears and arranging crackers on a wooden slate, Leo walked over to the television to set up their evening's entertainment.

"Are we doing a movie or bingeing that new mystery show?" Leo asked, tossing a knitted throw blanket over the corner of the sofa.

"Let's do the mystery show," Maya decided, bringing the completed charcuterie board into the living room. "But let's eat dinner at the table first. No screens for the main course. Just us."

Leo smiled, stepping forward to pull out her chair at their small dining table. "Deal. We can debate who the killer is over dessert."

He uncorked the wine, pouring two generous glasses. Handing one to Maya, he tapped his rim against hers. The crystal chimed lightly over the sound of the rain outside.

"Happy anniversary, Maya."

"Happy anniversary, Leo," she replied, taking a sip. It wasn't a grand, cinematic celebration, but as she looked at him across their shared apartment, it was exactly the night she wanted.


Maya leaned against the kitchen counter, scrolling through a list of overpriced downtown restaurants. "Do we really want to spend two hundred dollars on a Tuesday just to say happy five years?" she asked, tossing her phone onto the granite island.

Liam looked up from chopping onions for their weeknight stir-fry. He wiped a stray tear from his eye with the back of his wrist. "Honestly? I’d rather not fight Chicago traffic. Plus, it’s raining. But I don't want tonight to feel like just another Tuesday, either."

"Exactly," Maya agreed. She walked over, stealing a piece of red bell pepper from his cutting board. "What if we recreate our first date? Sort of."

"We can't exactly fit a bowling alley in the living apartment," Liam laughed, scraping the vegetables into the sizzling skillet.

"No, but remember what we did after? We ordered that terrible pepperoni pizza with the canned mushrooms and watched *The Princess Bride*."

Liam’s face lit up. "The pizza from Tony's? I think they're still open. I can call it in." He turned the stove down to a simmer and reached for his phone. "But this time, we splurge on the good wine. None of that gas station Merlot."

"Deal," Maya said, opening the fridge to check their current inventory. Empty. "I’ll run down to the corner market and grab the wine and a pint of ice cream. You order the pizza and queue up the movie."

"Should I light the expensive candles?" Liam asked, already dialing the pizzeria's number.

"Obviously. It's an anniversary, not a frat party." Maya grabbed her coat from the hallway hook, smiling. It wasn't the glamorous night out Instagram might expect of them, but as she stepped out into the misty evening, she knew it was exactly the celebration they both wanted.


Rain lashed against the windows of their third-floor Seattle apartment, making the warm, amber glow of the kitchen feel all the more inviting. Maya leaned against the quartz counter, effortlessly slicing heirloom tomatoes, while Julian hovered over the stove, carefully searing two thick salmon fillets.

"Four years," Julian said, flipping the fish with a practiced flick of his wrist. The rich sizzle filled the small space between them. "I still can't believe you agreed to go out with a guy who spilled iced coffee all over your white canvas sneakers."

"It was a purely tactical move," Maya teased. She tossed the tomatoes into a glass bowl, reaching for the balsamic vinegar and a whisk. "I figured if we were dating, I could keep a closer eye on my remaining footwear."

They had lived together for two years now. While their friends were busy booking elaborate destination weddings or securing mortgages in the suburbs, Maya and Julian were perfectly content right where they were. Tonight, there were no reservations at an overpriced downtown restaurant, and no frantic rushing to dress up. Just the two of them, comfortable in their favorite sweaters, opening a bottle of Pinot Noir they had been saving since a road trip to Oregon.

Julian transferred the cooked salmon to their plates, garnishing them with sprigs of dill and lemon wedges. "Can you grab the wine?" he asked, wiping his hands on a striped dish towel.

Maya uncorked the bottle, pouring two generous glasses before picking up the salad bowl. Together, they carried their feast to the small dining table tucked in the corner of the living room.

Julian raised his glass, catching Maya’s eyes in the dim light. "To four years of dodging coffee spills, and to whatever comes next."

Maya smiled, tapping her glass against his. "Happy anniversary."


Maya stared into the open refrigerator, the harsh light illuminating a half-empty jar of salsa and some wilting kale. "Happy five years to us," she muttered, nudging the crisper drawer shut with her knee.

Liam looked up from his laptop at the kitchen island, rubbing his tired eyes. "I know we said no big gifts, but I feel like we should at least upgrade from leftover stir-fry." He closed the computer, definitively ending his workday. "Do you want to brave that new Italian place downtown?"

Maya turned, leaning against the counter. "Honestly? The thought of putting on jeans and shouting over loud music sounds exhausting right now."

"Thank God you said that," Liam exhaled, his shoulders dropping in relief. "I was secretly dreading the parking situation."

"Let's just stay in," Maya suggested, her face brightening. "We can make that brown butter sage ravioli. We haven't attempted it since that cabin trip in Vermont."

Liam nodded, already reaching for his phone to pull up a grocery list. "Deal. But if we're doing the ravioli, we need real Parmigiano-Reggiano. Not the stuff in the green can." He stood up and grabbed his keys from the ceramic bowl by the door. "I'll run to Trader Joe's. I'll grab the cheese, some fresh sage, and a decent bottle of Sangiovese."

"Get the dark chocolate peanut butter cups, too," Maya called out. She walked over, wrapping her arms around his waist for a brief, familiar hug. "Our anniversary deserves the good candy."

He kissed the top of her head. "Good candy, good cheese, no crowds. Sounds like a perfect five years."

As the front door clicked shut behind him, Maya smiled, turned on their favorite jazz playlist, and began to boil the water.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but the kitchen was warm, smelling of roasting garlic and damp wool. Maya leaned over the cutting board, expertly dicing a final roma tomato.

"Remind me why we ever braved the restaurant crowds on our anniversary?" she asked, scraping the red cubes into the simmering skillet.

"Youthful ignorance," Liam replied. He stood beside her, wrestling the cork out of a bottle of reasonably priced Pinot Noir. With a satisfying pop, he poured two glasses, sliding one across the granite counter to her. "Plus, four years ago, I was trying to impress you. I couldn't exactly invite you to my cramped studio apartment to eat boxed pasta on the floor."

Maya laughed, accepting the glass and taking a sip. "Honestly? I would have loved the floor."

Instead of booking an overpriced tasting menu, they had agreed on a quiet Tuesday night in. Liam took over the stove, stirring the arrabbiata sauce with a wooden spoon so Maya could wash her hands. While he monitored the bubbling pasta water, Maya walked into the living area to set the mood. She draped a linen cloth over their small dining table, lit two tapered beeswax candles, and dropped the needle on a well-worn jazz record.

"Pasta’s ready," Liam called out, carrying the steaming serving bowl to the table. He divided the meal into two shallow dishes, garnishing them with fresh basil he’d managed to keep alive on their fire escape.

Maya sat across from him, the warm candlelight reflecting in her eyes. She reached across the table, resting her hand over his. "Happy four years, Liam. Best decision I ever made."

Liam smiled, his thumb brushing her knuckles. "Happy anniversary, Maya." He raised his wine glass. "To the floor, the apartment, and whatever comes next."


Maya leaned against the kitchen island, scrolling through the streaming menus on her phone. "Are we thinking suspense or stupid comedy for tonight?"

Liam emerged from the depths of the refrigerator, holding a half-empty jar of calabrian chilies and a block of parmesan. "It’s our four-year anniversary. I feel like stupid comedy is the only way to honor how we met." He set the cheese on the counter. "I can make the spicy rigatoni. Do we still have that bottle of Sangiovese from your sister?"

"Perfect," Maya said, tossing her phone down. "I'll decant the wine while you boil the water. And I claim auxiliary chopping duties."

Liam smiled, handing her a bulb of garlic and a chef's knife. "You just want to make sure I don't under-season the sauce again."

"Hey, I'm just an active participant in our domestic bliss," she teased, smashing a garlic clove with the heel of her hand. The satisfying *crack* echoed in their small apartment.

Outside, the autumn rain pelted against the living room window, making the warm air inside feel even cozier. They had briefly debated making a reservation at the upscale French place downtown, but after working all day, neither of them had the energy for dress codes, ride-shares, or crowded dining rooms. A Tuesday night anniversary called for comfort.

Liam grabbed a heavy pot from the lower cabinet, filling it at the sink. "So, *Step Brothers* or *Superbad*?"

"Actually," Maya said, scraping the minced garlic into a neat pile with the edge of her knife, "I was thinking *My Cousin Vinny*. A classic."

"Even better." Liam placed the pot on the stove and turned the burner to high. He leaned over, kissing her temple. "Happy four years, Maya."

"Happy four years," she smiled, handing him the cutting board.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Portland apartment, but inside, the air was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Maya closed her laptop with a definitive snap, officially ending her workday.

"Is the quarterly report finally vanquished?" Liam asked, leaning out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon in hand.

"Defeated and banished," Maya laughed, stretching her arms above her head before walking over to join him. She peered into the simmering pot of marinara sauce. "Smells amazing. Happy five years, by the way."

Liam smiled, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Happy five years. Honestly, I’m so glad we canceled that reservation downtown."

"Me too," Maya agreed. She tied an apron around her waist, taking charge of the cutting board. "Eighty dollars for a steak in this traffic? No thank you. I'd much rather have your famous baked ziti and wear my sweatpants."

Together, they fell into the comfortable, unspoken rhythm of their shared kitchen. Liam drained the pasta while Maya expertly folded the ricotta and fresh basil into the sauce, teasing him about their first date when he had accidentally knocked over a water glass in a panic.

"I was nervous," Liam defended himself, holding out the glass baking dish for her. "You were intimidatingly pretty."

"Still am," Maya joked, transferring the pasta mixture and sliding the heavy dish into the oven. She set the timer and turned back to him. "Should we pick out a movie while we wait?"

"Way ahead of you," Liam said, gesturing to the coffee table where a bottle of Oregon Pinot Noir and two glasses were already waiting next to the remote.

Maya wrapped her arms around his waist. It wasn't a grand, cinematic romance, but as they moved to the couch together to celebrate half a decade, it was exactly where they both wanted to be.


Rain lashed against the windows of their third-floor Chicago apartment, effectively canceling any lingering guilt over staying in. In the narrow kitchen, Maya wrestled the cork from a bottle of Cabernet, the satisfying *pop* echoing over the low hum of a jazz playlist.

"So, are we absolutely sure we don’t want to brave the storm for that fancy bistro?" Elias asked, leaning against the counter as he scrolled through a food delivery app on his phone.

Maya handed him a filled wine glass, their fingers brushing. "I am absolutely sure. Four years ago today, we ate cold pizza on my squeaky twin bed. I feel like expensive French food might shock our systems."

Elias chuckled, taking a sip. "Fair point. Indian it is, then? Garlic naan, chicken tikka, and those samosas you love?"

"Make it two orders of garlic naan and you've got a deal." Maya opened a drawer and pulled out two slightly mismatched cloth napkins, carrying them to the small wooden dining table. She began to arrange the plates while Elias finalized the order with a few quick taps.

"Done. Food will be here in forty-five minutes," Elias announced, slipping his phone into his pocket. He walked over and wrapped his arms around Maya from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder as she straightened the silverware. "Happy anniversary, Maya."

She leaned back into his chest, letting out a contented sigh. "Happy anniversary, Eli."

There were no diamond rings or grand romantic declarations planned for tonight—just the comfortable warmth of the life they had steadily built together. Elias walked over to the television, dimming the living room lights and queuing up the sci-fi movie they had been meaning to watch for weeks. Maya grabbed a heavy knitted throw blanket from the armchair, settling onto the sofa beside him to wait for their food.


Rain lashed against the apartment window, effectively making the decision for them.

Maya dropped her tote bag onto the entryway bench, kicking off her damp boots. "I vote we cancel the dinner reservation," she called out, shrugging off her coat.

Liam poked his head out from the kitchen, a half-chopped onion on the cutting board behind him. "Already done. I checked the weather app an hour ago and called the bistro. Happy four years, by the way."

Maya smiled, walking over to wrap her arms around his waist from behind. "Happy four years. So, what’s the backup plan? I see onions."

"I was thinking a pantry-raid risotto," Liam said, turning around to hand her a glass of red wine he’d already poured. "But I need a sous-chef to stir while I find a movie that isn't a true-crime documentary."

"Deal, on one condition," Maya said, taking a sip. "We eat on the couch in sweatpants."

"Obviously. I didn't cancel a seventy-dollar steak dinner to wear jeans in my own living room."

Maya took her place at the stove, the familiar rhythm of their shared kitchen taking over. They had lived in this cramped Chicago apartment for two years, and the dance of dodging each other around the island was second nature. While she stirred the simmering broth into the Arborio rice, Liam scrolled through streaming services on the TV, tossing out titles from the living room.

"How about that sci-fi thing with the time loop?" he asked, flopping onto the sofa.

"Only if you promise not to pause it to explain the physics," she teased.

"I make no promises," he laughed.

Maya sprinkled parmesan into the pan, feeling a deep, quiet contentment. No fancy dinner could top exactly where they were.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the air was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Maya dropped her keys into the ceramic bowl by the door, shaking off her damp coat.

"Perfect timing," Liam called from the kitchen. He stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, deftly chopping fresh basil. "The pasta water is almost at a rolling boil."

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

"Happy four years," Liam smiled, leaning back into her embrace before turning to hand her a corkscrew. "I was thinking we could open the Pinot Noir we bought in Oregon. Unless you'd rather brave the storm for that fancy Italian place downtown?"

Maya scoffed, taking the corkscrew and the bottle from the counter. "Absolutely not. Sweatpants, your famous truffle mac and cheese, and a movie marathon sounds exactly like my kind of anniversary."

While Liam managed the stove, whisking the sharp cheddar and Gruyère into a thick, bubbling sauce, Maya moved to the living room. She pulled the heavy knit throw blanket from the woven basket, arranged the pillows on their worn velvet sofa, and queued up the sci-fi movie they had watched on their very first date.

"Dinner is served," Liam announced, carrying two steaming, oversized bowls into the living room. Maya met him halfway with the poured glasses of wine, carefully balancing them on the coffee table.

They settled onto the couch, pulling the blanket over their laps, their knees touching. Liam tapped his wine glass gently against hers. "To four years of dodging expensive restaurants," he joked.

"To four years of knowing exactly what makes us happy," Maya corrected softly, taking a sip as the opening credits began to roll.


Maya kicked off her wet boots by the door, balancing a paper grocery bag filled with fresh linguine, basil, and a mid-tier bottle of Pinot Noir. "I got the good parmesan!" she called out, shaking the chill of the Chicago evening from her jacket.

Elias emerged from the hallway, adjusting the sleeves of a comfortably worn sweater. He took the heavy bag from her arms and planted a quick, warm kiss on her cheek. "Perfect. Happy three years, by the way. I’ve already got the garlic going."

The apartment smelled richly of olive oil and toasted pine nuts. They had decided weeks ago to skip the overpriced downtown restaurants. After three years of dating and two years of sharing this cramped but cozy apartment, a rainy Tuesday anniversary called for sweatpants and the comfort of their own kitchen.

Elias chopped the heirloom tomatoes with practiced precision while Maya queued up a mellow soul playlist on the living room speaker. She then pulled two stemless wine glasses from the open shelving, pouring a generous measure of the Pinot into each.

"Remember our first anniversary?" Maya asked, handing him a glass. "When we tried to get a table at that trendy rooftop place and ended up eating cold takeout on my old futon?"

"Hey, that takeout was essential," Elias laughed, tossing the pasta into the boiling water. "But I think I prefer this. No waiting in the rain, and the company is steadily improving."

Maya playfully bumped her hip against his as she took over stirring the simmering sauce. Once the food was plated, they carried their bowls to the small dining table by the window. Outside, the city traffic blurred through the rain-streaked glass. Inside, it was just the clinking of forks, the warm glow of the overhead lamp, and the quiet, comfortable rhythm of a life built together.


Rain lashed against the living room windows of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the atmosphere was warm and deliberate. Maya stood at the kitchen island, carefully slicing a crusty baguette. They had agreed on a quiet night in to celebrate exactly five years since their first date, happily dodging the city's overpriced Friday dinner rush.

"Oven's preheated for the baked brie," Julian called out, emerging from the hallway. He carried a stack of vinyl records in one hand and a dusty bottle of Pinot Noir in the other. "I also dug up the Fleet Foxes album we listened to on that first road trip to Michigan."

"Perfect," Maya said, scraping the bread slices onto a baking sheet and drizzling them with olive oil. "Honestly, this is already infinitely better than that crowded, noisy Italian place we went to last year. I can actually hear you."

Julian set the records down and uncorked the wine with a practiced twist, pouring them each a generous glass. "Agreed. Plus, I didn't have to iron a dress shirt." He handed her a stemless glass, his fingers lingering against hers. "Happy anniversary, Maya."

"Happy anniversary," she smiled, clinking her glass against his. "Now, put on the record while I get the cheese in the oven. Then you're officially on salad duty."

"Yes, chef," Julian laughed. He walked over to the turntable in the corner, gently setting the needle down. As the rich, acoustic guitar filled their living space, he moved back to the kitchen, grabbing the wooden salad bowls from the open shelving.

Maya slid the brie into the oven, leaning against the counter to watch Julian expertly whisk together a balsamic vinaigrette. There were no grand gestures tonight, just the quiet, synchronized rhythm of two people who had built a comfortable, shared life.


Maya chopped garlic at the kitchen island, the rhythmic *thwack* of the chef’s knife blending with the soft jazz playing from the smart speaker. It was a chilly Tuesday evening in Seattle, exactly four years since she and Julian had awkwardly shared a plate of overpriced nachos on their first date.

"Are we sure about the red wine in the sauce?" Julian asked, peering over the rim of his glasses. He stirred the simmering crushed tomatoes on the gas stove, carefully adjusting the heat.

"Positive," Maya said, scraping the minced garlic into the skillet he held out. "It’s our anniversary. We’re not skimping on the Cabernet, even if half of it goes into the pasta."

They had decided against a lavish night out, opting instead for a quiet evening in their shared apartment. Living together for the past two years had stripped away the need for grand, performative gestures. True romance, they’d found, was successfully navigating chore wheels, splitting the rent, and sharing the last cup of morning coffee.

Julian reached over and poured two generous glasses of the remaining wine, handing one to Maya. "To four years," he said, gently clinking his glass against hers. "And to surviving the great IKEA bookshelf assembly incident of last spring."

Maya laughed, taking a sip. "I still say you put the back panel on upside down."

"It builds character," Julian countered with a grin, turning back to check the boiling water. "Pasta’s going in."

Together, they moved around the cramped kitchen in an effortless, choreographed dance born of daily routine and deep affection. Maya set the small dining table with their mismatched plates and lit a single vanilla candle. It wasn't a five-star restaurant, but as Julian brought over the steaming bowl of rigatoni, Maya knew there was nowhere else she would rather be.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. Julian pulled the baking sheet from the oven, inspecting the herb-crusted salmon with a critical eye.

"It looks perfect," Maya said, hip-checking him gently to reach the cutting board. She began slicing a fresh baguette, her movements quick and practiced. "Much better than spending two hundred dollars to sit in a crowded, noisy dining room."

"Agreed," Julian replied. He set the fish on the stove and turned to open the refrigerator, retrieving a chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio. "Besides, I don’t think anywhere downtown would let us eat in our sweatpants."

Maya laughed, tossing a small piece of crust into her mouth. She abandoned the bread to dig out two wine glasses from the top cabinet. Today marked exactly four years since they had officially decided to be a couple, a milestone they had agreed to celebrate with deliberate simplicity. No extravagant gifts, no dressing up—just good food, decent wine, and each other.

"Did you pick a movie for later?" Julian asked, expertly working the corkscrew into the bottle.

"I narrowed it down to a top three," Maya said, taking the glasses from him and setting them on the small dining table she had already draped with a string of warm fairy lights. "But honestly, we’ll probably just fall asleep on the couch halfway through whichever one we choose."

Julian poured the wine, handing her a glass before raising his own. "To four years of shared rent, stolen blankets, and perfectly quiet nights."

"To us," Maya smiled, clinking her glass against his. They stood in the glowing kitchen, leaning into one another, entirely content to let the city storm rage on without them.


Rain tapped gently against the living room window of their third-floor Chicago apartment. Inside, the warm glow of the stove illuminated Liam’s face as he stirred a simmering pot of mushroom risotto.

Maya bumped her hip playfully against his as she reached into the fridge for a bottle of Pinot Noir. "Four years," she said, pulling a corkscrew from the crowded top drawer. "Can you believe we almost went to that overpriced steakhouse downtown for this?"

Liam laughed, keeping his eyes on the rice. "I’m pretty sure we spent our first date eating lukewarm tacos on my lumpy futon. A fancy steakhouse just wouldn't feel like us."

"Exactly," Maya agreed. She deftly popped the cork and poured two glasses, sliding one across the butcher-block counter to him. "Besides, your cooking beats a fifty-dollar steak any day."

They fell into a comfortable, practiced rhythm. While Liam added the final ladle of broth and a generous handful of parmesan to the pan, Maya grabbed their everyday ceramic plates and moved to the small dining table. She lit a pair of tapered candles—the only concession to traditional romance they’d agreed upon for the night.

"Did you pick a movie yet?" Liam asked, bringing the steaming pan over to the table and portioning out the dinner.

"I narrowed it down to either *Goodfellas* or the absolute worst sci-fi B-movie I could find on streaming," Maya said, taking her seat and handing him a fork.

"Let’s go with the B-movie," Liam decided, sitting down across from her. "We need something to make fun of."

Maya raised her wine glass, the candlelight reflecting softly in her eyes. "To four years of excellent food and terrible movies."

Liam clinked his glass against hers. "Happy anniversary, Maya."


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the air was warm and smelled heavily of garlic and roasting tomatoes. Maya nudged Elias out of the way with her hip, reaching for the wooden cutting board.

"I can chop the basil," she offered, grabbing the chef's knife. "You're moving at the speed of molasses, and it's our anniversary. I want to actually eat before midnight."

Elias laughed, stirring the bubbling pasta sauce on their cramped electric stove. "Perfection takes time. Besides, four years together means you should be used to my pacing by now."

They had mutually agreed on a quiet Friday night in to celebrate. Previous years had involved overpriced downtown reservations, tight shoes, and frantic scrambles to leave work early. Tonight, they just wanted the comfort of their shared space and a home-cooked meal.

Maya scraped the vibrant green herbs into the simmering pot, the aroma instantly blooming in the small kitchen. "Exactly. Which is why I also queued up that terrible sci-fi movie you've been begging to watch."

"You didn't." Elias turned, a wooden spoon still in hand, his face breaking into a wide, genuine grin. "I thought we were watching your French indie film."

"Consider it my anniversary gift," Maya said, walking over to the fridge to pull out a chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio. She handed him the corkscrew. "That, and I bought the good wine. Your turn to do some heavy lifting."

Elias expertly popped the cork, pouring two generous glasses before turning the stove dial to low. He handed her a glass, pausing to tap the rim against hers. The crisp chime cut through the sound of the city rain.

"Happy anniversary, Maya," he said softly.

"Happy anniversary," she replied, taking a sip and leaning against his shoulder. "Now plate the pasta. The aliens are waiting."


Rain lashed against the windows of their third-floor Brooklyn apartment, but inside, the radiators hummed with steady, dry heat. It was Tuesday, exactly four years since Maya had accidentally spilled an iced latte on Julian’s sneakers at a local coffee shop.

"Are we officially too boring to go out on a weeknight?" Maya asked, dropping her canvas tote bag by the door and kicking off her wet boots. She walked into the kitchen, where Julian was already pulling ingredients from the fridge.

"Not boring," Julian corrected, handing her a glass of Cabernet. "Just smart enough to know that my mushroom risotto and our own couch is a better deal than a ninety-dollar prix fixe menu in a crowded restaurant."

Maya smiled, taking a sip of the dark wine. "You make a compelling argument. Do you need help chopping?"

"You can mince the garlic if you promise not to rub your eyes afterward," he teased, nudging a wooden cutting board toward her.

They worked in comfortable tandem, navigating the space with the kind of synchronized choreography that only came from sharing a narrow galley kitchen for two years. While Julian stood at the stove, steadily stirring the simmering arborio rice and adding ladlefuls of warm broth, Maya set their small dining table. She bypassed their everyday paper napkins, opting instead for the cloth ones they usually saved for Thanksgiving, and lit a pair of tall beeswax candles.

Later, with the empty bowls stacked in the sink, they migrated to the living room. Julian cued up a vintage murder mystery on the TV while Maya pulled a heavy knitted throw blanket over their laps.

Julian clinked his wine glass against hers. "Happy anniversary, Maya. Four years."

"Happy anniversary," she echoed, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Here’s to staying in."


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of roasting garlic. It was Tuesday, the exact date of their four-year anniversary. Maya leaned against the granite counter, uncorking a bottle of Pinot Noir while Liam deftly chopped fresh basil on the butcher block.

"I'm so glad we canceled the reservation at Le Petit," Liam said, sweeping the greens into a simmering pot of marinara. "I really didn't want to put on a tie tonight."

Maya laughed, pouring the wine into two stemless glasses. "Agreed. Fancy restaurants are great, but paying forty dollars for a tiny scallop just didn't feel right this year. Besides, your baked ziti beats anything downtown." She handed him a glass, their fingers briefly brushing.

"So, what's the actual itinerary?" Liam asked, taking a sip. "Dinner, obviously. And then?"

"I was thinking we pull out the old Scrabble board," Maya suggested, walking over to the hallway closet to dig out the battered cardboard box. "We haven't played since the winter freeze. Then, maybe we finally finish that documentary about the national parks."

Liam stirred the pasta, lowering the heat on the stove. "Scrabble and Yellowstone. I like it. But only if I get to keep score this time. You're notorious for your creative math."

"Deal," Maya said with a smirk. She walked into the living room, lighting a row of amber-scented candles on the coffee table and tossing a thick knitted throw blanket over the sofa cushions. They had lived together for two years, and while family occasionally prodded about when they would make things 'official,' nights like this made Maya feel they already had.

Liam carried the steaming baking dish to the coffee table, setting it carefully on a cork trivet. "Dinner is served," he smiled. Maya sat down beside him, perfectly content with their quiet, ordinary magic.


Rain lashed against the living room window of their Chicago apartment, but inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled faintly of garlic and roasting tomatoes. Sarah wiped the granite counter, nudging a stack of junk mail out of the way to make room for the stainless steel pasta maker. Four years today. No reservations at overpriced downtown restaurants, just a quiet Tuesday night in.

The front door clicked open, and Mark backed in, shaking off his wet umbrella. In his arms was a damp paper grocery bag and a bottle of Chianti.

"I survived the Red Line," he announced, setting the groceries down with a soft thud. He walked over, wrapping his cold arms around Sarah’s waist and pressing a kiss to her temple. "Happy anniversary, babe."

"Happy anniversary," she smiled, leaning into his damp coat. "Did you get the ricotta?"

"Ricotta, fresh basil, and that sea-salt dark chocolate you like," Mark said, efficiently unpacking the bag. He handed her the cheese, then grabbed two wine glasses from the open shelving. "Are we still doing the homemade ravioli, or did the work day sap your ambition?"

"Oh, we’re doing it," Sarah laughed, pulling the dough from the fridge where she’d left it to rest. She dusted the large wooden cutting board with flour and began pressing it flat. "You're on the crank. I'll feed the dough."

Mark uncorked the wine, sliding a glass toward her before pulling up his phone to put on a low jazz playlist. He rolled up his sleeves and stepped up to the counter. They fell into an easy, familiar rhythm—Sarah carefully guiding the pale yellow sheets of pasta, Mark steadily turning the handle. There were no diamond rings or grand declarations tonight, just the shared warmth of their kitchen, the hum of the city outside, and the quiet comfort of a life built together.


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.