The moment Lydia mentioned our two-year anniversary, I felt my heart skip. Not just because it was a milestone, but because I'd been planning something that had been gnawing at me for weeks.
After endless deliberation, a hundred discarded ideas, and my mother's merciless teasing, I'd made my choice: I was going to propose.
I'd already picked out the ring—a delicate piece that would suit Lydia perfectly. A simple yet refined silver band cradled a sapphire, encircled by the faintest hint of diamonds, creating the impression of tiny stars glistening around a midnight sky.
When I found it, the ring felt almost like fate; it was like holding a fragment of our own love story, a piece of something eternal yet fragile.
She looked so radiant over the screen, her face soft and full of life, and I knew this surprise was going to be worth every second of nervous planning.
"So, any special plans for the anniversary?" Lydia asked, raising a curious brow.
