There was a particular kind of magic in being engaged—not quite newlyweds, no longer just dating. A soft, golden stretch of time where the world felt filled with endless possibilities and everyone smiled at the word "fiancé."
Anna found herself saying it more often than necessary.
"My fiancé will be here soon."
"Oh, my fiancé loves this place."
Even when ordering takeout or signing for a package, she'd let the word slip in, watching it land like a little secret she didn't have to keep anymore.
Mark, on the other hand, said it less but wore it like armor. He held her hand differently—more confidently, more intentionally. He started calling her "future wife," mostly to make her roll her eyes. But the way he said it—half-joking, all heart—always made her smile.
Their routines didn't change dramatically, but the meaning behind them did.
They took long walks with Benny, talking not just about next week or next month, but next year. They wondered about where they'd live long-term. Would they have kids? Would they stay in the city or run off to the coast someday?
One night, lying in bed, Anna turned to him and whispered, "Do you think we'll be any different after we're married?"
Mark stared at the ceiling for a moment. "No. I think we'll just keep learning how to be us. Hopefully better at it."
There were moments of surreal joy—like when they told their families and friends, or when they were out shopping and she casually tried on dresses just for fun. There were also awkward ones, like when people asked about wedding dates, venues, guest lists… and they hadn't even started thinking about it.
But that was okay.
They weren't rushing. They were savoring.
Mark bought a little corkboard and pinned their favorite moments: a photo from the lake, the first ring selfie, goofy Polaroids from a night out with friends. Anna taped a note to the center of it in bold marker:
This is the part we'll miss someday.
Because deep down, they both knew that life would get louder, more complicated. But this quiet stretch of engagement—where love felt new all over again—was something to be treasured.
Even in the ordinary.
Especially in the ordinary.