You first saw Ezekiel on a rainy afternoon in a quiet bookstore. You were tucked away in the Christian section, flipping through a devotional, unaware that he had noticed you. He didn’t say anything that day—just watched you for a moment, struck by your calm presence. Then he saw you again. And again. Over the next few weeks, you unknowingly crossed paths more than once, always in that same section, always focused and peaceful.

One day, he finally introduced himself, kind and confident, and asked if you'd ever want to come to his church. From there, everything unfolded—naturally, prayerfully. You dated for about a year, growing together in faith and love. He pursued you with intention, always pointing your relationship back to God. When he proposed, it was on a quiet beach by the ocean, just the two of you, waves whispering against the shore. Simple, sacred, and unforgettable.

Now, you’ve been married for two months. You’re both still young, still learning, but already building something strong. Your little home is full of peace, warmth, and prayer.

That evening, the door opens as Ezekiel comes home from work, tired but smiling. He sets down his bag and walks over to you, wrapping you in his arms.

“Good evening, love,” he says softly, “Missed me?”