Marriage, they quickly discovered, wasn't just about vows and rings — it was about toothbrush placements, mismatched sleep schedules, and arguments over how much toothpaste to squeeze.
But it was beautiful.
Their mornings started with Ira grumbling and pulling the blanket over her head while Daniel cheerfully brewed her a cup of chai — extra ginger, just how she liked. She would sit up groggily, hair a bird's nest, looking nothing like the blushing bride from the wedding photos — and he would kiss her forehead like she was the most radiant woman in the world.
He, on the other hand, had a habit of forgetting things — wallet, keys, charger — and it was Ira who became the savior each time, handing him his forgotten item with a roll of her eyes and a secret fondness in her smile.
They were still figuring things out. Who did the dishes. Who took the laundry out. When to talk and when to give space. And yet, somehow, it all felt natural — like two rhythms slowly merging into one steady beat.
Then came their honeymoon.
Thailand — chosen for its beaches, street food, temples, and promise of adventure.
Their first stop: Phuket.
From the moment they landed, Ira clutched Daniel's arm like a child at a fair.
"I didn't pack enough sunscreen," she whispered, eyes wide.
"You also packed three pairs of heels," Daniel muttered.
"I might need them!"
"For what? Hiking Mount Heels?"
She smacked his arm, and they both laughed.
They visited temples where Ira made Daniel tie prayer ribbons and take part in every ritual. They strolled beaches hand in hand, barefoot and sun-kissed, sipping coconut water straight from the shell.
One afternoon, they decided to go kayaking on a serene lagoon, surrounded by cliffs and mangroves. Daniel struggled with the paddles, and Ira couldn't stop laughing.
"You're splashing like it's Holi!"
"You said this would be romantic. You didn't say it would be cardio!"
Later, they watched the sunset from the kayak — everything bathed in gold, their joined hands resting lightly on the paddle.
That night, they had dinner by the sea, candlelight flickering, the sound of waves crashing nearby. Ira wore a light peach dress, her skin glowing from the sun and happiness. Daniel couldn't take his eyes off her.
"Why are you staring?" she asked, blushing.
"You make sunsets jealous."
"Ugh. That was awful."
"But you smiled."
"Only because it was so bad."
---
Their next stop: Chiang Mai.
Elephant sanctuaries. Forest trails. Food markets where they picked out spices, souvenirs, and matching bracelets with little wooden elephants carved on them.
At a night bazaar, they came across a small booth with a street artist sketching caricatures.
They decided to sit for one — and the result had Daniel with exaggerated ears and Ira holding a frying pan. They laughed for ten whole minutes and bought the drawing anyway.
They shared stolen kisses in temple gardens, whispered silly jokes under fairy lights, danced in hotel rooms to old Bollywood songs playing on Ira's phone, and argued over who got the last spring roll (it was always Ira).
---
By the end of the trip, they weren't just returning as newlyweds.
They were returning as partners — in jokes, in love, in everything.
On the flight home, Ira leaned on Daniel's shoulder, half-asleep.
"You're my favorite person," she murmured.
He kissed her hair. "You're my favorite everything."
And as the plane cut through clouds toward home, so did their journey — just taking off into a future they now shared, with suitcases full of sand, souvenirs, and stories to laugh about for the rest of their lives.