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Maya looks around the restaurant in awe until her gaze settles on Carina—on her wife. She’s laughing at something Vic says. They’re surrounded by their friends, by joy. Carina is wearing a white pantsuit that looks incredible on her, and Maya was ecstatic about the white dress she ended up wearing—Carina’s lingering eyes helped with that, and if her wife’s hands wandered, you wouldn’t catch her complaining.
But right now, at this moment, she can’t help but think about the fact that they almost didn’t make it.
They almost lost this—each other. This moment. This perfection.
The memory of those moments before Carina left for Italy hits her like a wave. Loud. Scary. Terrifying. Overwhelming. She remembers that it had felt like she was choking, gasping for air she couldn’t find. Everything inside her screamed for safety, to run from pain before it swallowed her whole. But safety was Carina. Carina, with her touch, her smile, her voice that could ground Maya in a second.
And yet, Carina was leaving.
Maya had known it wasn’t Carina leaving her—not really. Immigration, visa, it wasn’t personal. But it felt personal. It felt like abandonment. So they fought. Words they didn’t mean, or maybe did. Hurts hurled like weapons. Carina walked out.
But then she came back.
Suddenly she was behind her at the hospital, launching into a speech. And then she asked, Carina asked her to marry her. Her girlfriend who didn’t believe in marriage, who said she didn’t need a piece of paper to prove their love—proposed .
She wanted forever with Maya.
Sometimes Maya still doesn’t believe it. But she’s trying, every single day, to be worthy of it. Of her. She studies Italian in the quiet of their mornings, repeats words under her breath when cooking, reading, brushing her teeth. She asks questions about visas, listens to Carina explain the complicated bureaucratic mess that brought them here. She’s taken notes, made spreadsheets, made plans.
Clipboard Maya Bishop-style.
She was doing this. All of it. For them.
Oh
We almost got away, we cut it close
The city's getting loud, if I choke
It's only 'cause I'm scared to be alone
Been trying to work it out, you should know
In the end, none of it would have mattered.
Yes, Maya wanted to get married. Especially to Carina. But if it had come down to it—if Carina had told her, "I can’t, I just can’t do marriage," Maya would’ve nodded, swallowed the lump in her throat, and stayed.
Because she wanted Carina more than the ceremony. More than the rings or the paper or the names.
But Carina gave her that anyway. Because it mattered to Maya. Because she mattered. She married her because it was something Maya needed, something she wanted.
And she was not about to make Carina regret getting married for her.
They talked about a honeymoon once, curled up on the couch in the middle of quarantine, watching people’s weddings on TikTok. But covid complicated things, and Maya didn’t care. She would’ve gone anywhere or nowhere, as long as it was with Carina.
"We could just stay here forever," Maya said one night, half-asleep, wrapped in Carina’s arms, head on her chest. "Lock the door and throw away the key."
Carina laughed softly, kissed the top of her head. "Forever sounds good."
Maya never thought this could be her life. Truly happy. Safe. Married. Not because she had to, not because it was expected—but because she wanted to. Because Carina wanted to. Because her wife looks at her like she is everything.
Sometimes, Maya wishes they’d met earlier. That she’d found this happiness sooner.
But she knows it wouldn’t have worked. If they’d met earlier, Carina would’ve just been another Wednesday—beautiful, unforgettable, and gone.
They met at the right time.
Of that, Maya is sure.
I would do whatever you wanted
We don't have to leave the apartment
Met you at the right time
This is what it feels like
Carina can’t stop smiling.
They’re swaying under the string lights, music soft in the background, arms looped lazily around each other. Carina’s head tilts back in a small laugh, not even at something funny—just because her heart is so full it spills out.
She never wanted this. The white outfit, the ceremony, the title, the stupid piece of paper. Marriage was something she didn’t believe in. Didn’t trust.
But Maya did. her wife does, her wife. Her Maya needed the safety of it, the reassurance. She knows it's not something to do with her, but Maya wanted that stupid piece of paper. The permanence. And Carina—God, Carina would get married a hundred times if it meant Maya smiling like this.
Her wife.
The word feels strange and right all at once.
She didn’t do this for the paperwork. Not really. She did it because Maya is hers. Because nothing—not distance, not fear, not time zones—could keep them apart. Because every time she gets to call Maya "my wife," her heart skips a beat.
Carina never thought she’d be excited to say "I do." Never thought she’d beam at the flash of a ring on her hand. But she is. She’s ecstatic. Giddy. In love.
And when she looks at Maya—eyes bright, cheeks flushed, that open, breathless smile on her face—Carina knows she’d do it all over again.
She’s madly in love with her wife.
This is what it feels like.
Living in a movie I've watched and
Funny 'cause I couldn't have called it
Met you at the right time
This is what it feels like
A few weeks after their first real vacation, Carina had looked over her coffee, for a moment just silently observing Maya while she was reading a new article on some firefighting technique, "Let’s take a train."
Maya blinked, then looked up. "Where?"
"Anywhere. Just us."
They ended up in Edmonds. One stop away. Twenty-four minutes of quiet.
They didn’t mean to match, but they did—both in white t-shirts, light denim jeans, and primarily white sneakers. Carina had laughed when she noticed, teasing Maya for being the one who hated matching, and Maya had rolled her eyes but smiled anyway.
Their first stop was coffee, naturally—Carina insisted. They sipped coffee from mismatched ceramic mugs outside a tiny café, Maya’s knee bumping hers under the table. Then they wandered the Cascadia Art Museum, fingers intertwined, whispering commentary only the two of them would understand.
Lunch came next—some hole-in-the-wall place Maya found, all industrial wood and soft lighting. They split pasta and laughed too loudly. Then the Scratch Distillery. Maya’s eyes lit up at the whiskey barrels.
"I am not buying a bottle," she had warned herself, holding it up and frowning. "We still have the rest of the day. And the train."
Carina leaned in, eyes twinkling. "We can carry it bambina."
Maya bought it. The bottle remained untouched in their apartment, Maya claimed she was saving it for the right moment.
They walked through a park, just to waste time, hand in hand, lazily tracing steps and sharing secrets like they were sixteen. By dinner, they found a small, tucked-away restaurant—something about "The Loft" maybe? Maya would know the full name. The menu leaned into Italian and Greek food, yet they both ordered pasta. Maya declared it the best thing she’d eaten in months, after her girlfriend's cooking of course.
Afterward, they wandered until they hit Marina Beach Park. It was more rock than sand, but the scattered driftwood made for perfect seats. They curled up together as the sun dipped low, casting gold across the water.
The train ride home was quiet. Cold. Maya leaned her head on Carina’s shoulder, phone playing music quietly between them.
Carina couldn’t stop smiling. Maya wouldn’t be something temporary, she just knew.
This was what it felt like.
Oh
The train was cold, we left Connecticut
We stayed a couple hours, our clothes
Matched enough to throw me off a bit
Your phone was playing Towers, and I
She already knew, later, when they would inevitably head home, still wrapped in the afterglow of dancing and laughter and too many glasses of champagne, She would slip her arms around Carina’s waist as they’d stand in the apartment they’ve always called home. Still in her wedding dress, barefoot now, her hair a little undone, mascara smudged at the corners of her eyes, Maya would press her forehead to Carina’s shoulder, letting out a soft sigh.
"We don’t have to leave," she would whisper, the words more like a wish than a statement. "Ever."
Carina would chuckle, warm and soft, fingers tracing lazy circles along Maya’s back. "I know."
They could travel the world, chase sunrises in distant cities, or take a honeymoon in some dreamy coastal town. But Maya doesn’t need all that. She imagines easy mornings—waking up next to Carina, tangled in sheets and sunlight. Cooking breakfast barefoot. Laughing at something ridiculous on TV. She imagines peace, and maybe for the first time, believes it’s something she gets to have.
She’d do whatever Carina wanted. Go wherever, be whoever. But she’d be just as happy staying in this moment—just them. Just here.
Because this? This is what it would feel like.
I would do whatever you wanted
We don't have to leave the apartment
Met you at the right time
This is what it feels like
Some nights feel like something out of a movie. The lights, the music, the way Carina looks at her—like she’s the only thing that matters. And Maya thinks about all the versions of herself who would never have believed this could be real.
Funny. If someone had told her back then, during the chaos, the breakdowns, the silence, that this would be her life? She’d have laughed. Or cried. Probably both. The idea of soft joy, of lasting love, of someone choosing her every single day—it would have seemed like someone else’s story.
But then she met Carina. And she met her at the exact right time. Right when she’d stopped believing anything good could last. Right when she needed someone to look at her and see more than damage.
But in this moment, their hands still linked from the last dance, guests buzzing around them, Carina’s lipstick slightly smudged from too many kisses, Maya knows. This is happiness, this is perfection, this is what it feels like.
Living in a movie I've watched and
Funny 'cause I couldn't have called it
Met you at the right time
This is what it feels like
Carina can’t help but look at Maya, her wife is dancing with Andy and Vic, nothing but happiness on her face.
Some days it could feel like Maya didn’t need her. Some days she slips away to her friends, it used to make her nervous, like Maya’s friends were better at supporting her then Carina could.
But they weren’t, they simply gave a different kind of support. Something Carina was glad they could offer her.
Maya isn’t good at needing people. She’s always been the strong one, the fighter, the one who could push through. But there were days—long days, dark days—when she needed Carina more than air. And every time she thought Maya might shatter, Carina held her together without asking for anything in return.
There was one night—after a long shift, after the fight with her father, after months of trying to hold it all in—Maya came home and didn’t say a word. Carina just opened her arms and she broke down right there in the hallway, face buried in Carina’s neck, fists clenched in her shirt. And Carina just held her, whispering softly in Italian until Maya could breathe again.
It wasn’t the only time. There were quiet breakdowns in bathroom corners, apologies spoken through tears, moments when Maya didn’t have to be anything but human.
They’ll be alright. Not perfect. Not easy. But alright.
Together.
And I need you sometimes
We'll be alright
Maya turns around as she’s dancing with her friends, searching, and catches Carina’s gaze across the restaurant. Time slows, just for a second. Carina lifts her glass in a silent toast, eyes soft, knowing. The candles on the table flicker between them, casting shadows and light like a scene from a dream.
Maya smiles. Because even now, she feels it—that quiet certainty. That thread that connects them, even across a crowded room. The way her chest tightens and softens all at once.
They met at the right time. When Maya was just starting to believe she could deserve this. When Carina was ready to give her heart to someone who needed it more than they knew.
This is what it feels like.
The perfection, the love, everything they ever shared led them to this moment, this quiet bubble of wonder.
Their wedding.
Met you at the right time
This is what it feels like
The wedding is starting to wind down. Lights glow golden, music fading into softer, slower songs. Maya leans back in her chair, watching Carina laugh with Ben, her eyes bright and cheeks warm with joy. There’s a warmth in Maya’s chest, something soft and full, like the kind of happiness that settles in your bones.
She thinks about the little things they’ll get to do again. Sunday mornings with coffee and messy hair, Carina tucked into her side as they read different books or papers, legs tangled under the blanket. Grocery runs that take twice as long because they keep getting distracted or debate over which pasta to buy. Cooking dinner barefoot in the kitchen with music playing, hips brushing, Maya sneaking bites of sauce off Carina’s spoon.
All the ordinary magic.
Carina’s here now. Really here. No flights to catch, no hours counted backwards to a different time zone, no goodbyes hanging heavy in the doorway. Just them. In the same place. On the same page.
And Maya can’t stop smiling.
They’re home.
And I miss you some nights
We'll be alright
She steps out onto the pavement, Carina follows, heels dangling from her fingers. They walk out past the lights and toward the quiet edge of the curb. The air is cooler now, stars faint above the city skyline, but still shining.
They stop at the edge of the street. The sounds of celebration still echo faintly behind them. Maya turns to her and grins, cheeks flushed, hair loose around her face.
"We really met at the right time, didn’t we?"
Carina pulls her in close, noses brushing, hands warm against her cheeks. "We really did."
Maya exhales, eyes falling shut.
She’s happy now. So, so happy.
This is what it feels like.
Met you at the right time
This is what it feels like
Back inside, everyone’s dancing again. The music shifts into something familiar, something Maya once played on repeat while waiting for Carina to return from Italy. She grabs her hand and tugs her into the center of the floor.
"I would do whatever you wanted," Maya says, laughing breathlessly, spinning her under the lights. "We don’t even have to leave the apartment."
They could live forever in that space—between laughter and music, in the warmth of shared glances and hands finding each other again and again. Maya sees the rest of their life play out in flashes—brushing teeth side by side, arguing over grocery lists, curling up under a blanket after a long day.
Carina kisses her, slow and lingering.
Maya closes her eyes.
This is what it feels like.
Later, long after the guests have gone, the music has faded and they have made their way back home, they sit on the floor of their apartment, still in their wedding clothes. The bottle of whiskey from Edmonds sits between them.
Maya runs her fingers over the edge of it, smiling softly. "Told you I was saving it."
Carina laughs, head tilted. "For what? Our wedding? Bambina you couldn’t have known we’d get married when we went to Edmonds!"
"For this," Maya says, unscrewing the cap and pouring them each a glass. "For something worth remembering."
They clink their glasses and take a sip, grimace-laughing at the burn that follows. It’s strong, sharp, but it settles in her chest like something sacred.
Carina leans against her shoulder, eyes fluttering closed. "We made it."
Maya rests her head against hers, letting the quiet settle around them. "We really did."
They sit there for a long time, not saying much. Just breathing, just existing. Just holding each other in the soft golden silence of everything they’ve built.
Of this perfect life they created.
This is what it feels like.
I would do whatever you wanted
We don't have to leave the apartment
Met you at the right time
This is what it feels like