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In snowy mountains, late one year,
A quiet platform brought us near.
Same train behind us, seats apart,
No hint of what was set to start.

He almost missed it — rushed, delayed.
She stepped off calm, her timing made.
With friends beside us, bags in hand,
We met — not quite as fate had planned.

No violins. No grand display.
Just winter light along the way.
A simple walk up through the town,
And something small that settled down.

Since then — through seasons, skies, and miles,
Through continents and boarding aisles,
Through shifting plans and changing views,
Two separate paths began to fuse.

And on a summer day in light,
The twenty-eighth of August bright,
By water’s edge, with you in view,
We’ll turn that first walk into “I do.”