Some love stories feel like they belong in novels. My cousin’s is one of them.
They met in Montreal while they were both in school. He had travelled from Spain to sharpen his French and English while pursuing business studies, and she was deep into her law degree. Somewhere between classes and late-night coffees, they fell in love.
Eventually, she moved to Granada. They got married, built a life together under the Spanish sun, and welcomed two beautiful children. This year, they celebrated 10 years of marriage.
I didn’t make it to their wedding. I was too young at the time, and Spain felt a world away. So when I had the chance to visit them this summer, it felt only right to repay the gift they’d given me, opening their home, by giving them photographs that honour the love they’ve built.
They slipped back into their original wedding outfits, a decade later, and we wandered through the olive groves together. The way they laughed, held hands, and looked at one another. It was as if no time had passed at all. Still so in love it’s almost sickening, in the best way.
There was something incredibly moving about watching them relive those moments, not as starry-eyed newlyweds but as partners who have weathered life together for ten whole years. It was a reminder that love isn’t just about beginnings but choosing each other again and again, even a decade later.
For me, it was also a full circle: the wedding I had missed all those years ago, I finally got to witness in my own way. And now, they have photographs that mark not just where their story started, but where it has carried them.
