Anywhere you go there’s always that couple. Like when you go to a café or a restaurant with your friends, and there they are, ordering for each other and seldom getting it wrong. It looks like a rehearsed waltz, she passes the sugar before he even asks, he covers her shoulders with the jacket before she even realizes she’s feeling cold. They laugh at each other’s jokes, finish each other’s sentences, communicate without even speaking…
People make big assumptions about others who are couple-oriented. I know exactly what you think, because I’ve thought the same: “show-offs”, “so corny!”, “how boring”, and my favourite “they’re faking it”. All of this while secretly hating them because from the outside in it looks impossible, but also cozy, and safe.
What the eye-rollers don’t see is the work behind the dance. The countless times you bite your tongue instead of arguing, the small compromises you make every day. The gazillion times you get it wrong and hurt each other…
His obsession with routines used to puzzle me, but now I find comfort in knowing what’s going to happen next. The same way he’s grown from tolerating to loving our murder-mystery show nights, (although it’s annoying how he always knows who the killer is before I do).
Some changes were harder than others — like learning to automatically split my snacks in half or purposely sharing my space and things after years of “fighting for my independence”.
But then there are the unexpected gifts: like being understood without words or feeling like you truly belong.
I used to cherish sleeping in on weekends, but now I find myself looking forward to our Sunday ritual — power walking on the beach before sunrise, followed by birria tacos at our favorite spot. The streets are quiet, the sun is just coming up, and in those moments, life makes sense.
Learning to think in ‘we’ instead of ‘me’ feels like learning a new language — clumsy at first, with many mistakes, until one day, after months of gentle corrections and patient encouragement (the same kind that got me to finally start writing), it flows naturally.
Our last walk on the beach in 2024, right before going to our favorite birria tacos like every Sunday.
“You even laugh at the same videos.” My mother’s words found us one day in her kitchen, both leaning over my husband’s phone, oblivious she had come home. I’ll never forget this scene because that day I realized we had become that couple. She had caught us mid-dance.
The synchronicity everyone judges isn’t magic — it’s the result of choosing each other, every single day.
