Thirteen years ago, we met through a mutual friend—Jacklyn. Our love story did not start with sparks and fireworks. In fact, it barely started at all. Albert was the quiet, shy type, while I was the outgoing, cheerful one. We were first introduced somewhere across the USC–Main campus: no real conversation, just a polite nod and a quick hello.

When it was time to go home, we all waited beside Alberto’s Pizza for the stoplight to turn green. I decided to break the silence and teased him, “Uy, tag-iya man diay kag pizzahan—pang libre sad ngara!” then laughed… and this man—this future love of my life—just stared at me with the most serious face and ignored me. I swear I melted from pure embarrassment. Thankfully, the light turned green, and I rushed forward with my friends, telling myself I never wanted to be friends with someone that serious ever again. I still remember that moment like it was yesterday.

But plot twist: he kept showing up. I don’t know how or why, but slowly, consistently—he did. Little by little, we became friends. We started texting. He started calling me sweet nicknames (I still don’t know where he got some of them ). One day he’d be asking me out for a date, the next he’d be showing up with snacks or sweets. And let me tell you, this man’s consistency could win awards. From good morning texts to waiting for me after class just to take me home—he was quietly, steadily proving himself. And eventually, feelings grew. The shy guy who once ignored my joke became the man I can’t imagine life without.

And the rest, as they say, is history—our wonderfully chaotic, funny, imperfect, and beautiful history.