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There is a certain magic in saying the words, "My wife, Neha." It’s a phrase that carries the weight of a thousand unsaid poems and the lightness of a morning cup of tea shared in comfortable silence. For those of you who follow this space, you know I’ve written about love in the abstract. Today, I want to write about love in the specific. Today, I want to write about the romantic storylines that make up our life.

And just like that, the plan vanished. I didn’t get down on one knee gracefully. I sort of collapsed. I pulled the ring out of my sock—lint and all—and said, “Neha. I don’t want to identify birds without you for the rest of my life. Marry me?” There is a certain magic in saying the words, "My wife, Neha

She cried. I cried. The hikers behind us clapped. It wasn’t Paris. It was perfect. Here is the secret no one tells you: the most romantic storylines aren’t the weddings or the proposals. They are the Tuesdays. Today, I want to write about the romantic

Disclaimer: My wife, Neha, has informed me that she will be commenting about the dishes. And also about the time I left the milk out overnight. Some storylines never end. I sort of collapsed

Here are the romantic storylines of Me and My Neha . Every great romance has an origin story that sounds inevitable in hindsight. Ours was anything but.