Our Story (from Will’s perspective):

I remember it like it was yesterday, the hot August air, the crowded lecture hall, the anticipation of yet another Stochastics Operations Research class, and the buzz of my phone notifying me that I received a text message. “Who could it be?” I thought. It was none other than a fellow fraternity brother, Bradley. Apparently, he too had a love for Stochastics. The message read, “Come sit in the back with us.”

I was conflicted. Should I be cool and sit in the back with the fun people? “I will go, but I will still focus on the professor,” I promised myself.

Soon after I arrived in the back row, I knew I would not be able to keep my promise. For not only was I sitting down next to two of my friends, but a third as well, a female, with dark hair, tan skin, and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt on.

“Who is she?” I thought. But my question was quickly answered by my other friend Mike who said, “This is MeMe.” Only, I didn’t catch the last part of what he said, the crucial part when he told me her name, and instead of asking him to repeat himself like a sane person, I just avoided saying her name for the next week of class.

As time went on, I eventually worked up the courage to ask Mike her name again. This time I heard it clearly.

“MeMe,” he said.

“MeMe… the name of my wise grandmother,” I replied. “I assume you two are dating?” I asked nonchalantly, although I was very much chalant on the inside.

He replied with a brief giggle and a “No.”

“Idiot,” I thought to myself.

This revelation that she was single planted a small ounce of hope in the depths of my heart that MeMe and I could be much more than friends one day.

Weeks later, in the library, where all true romances begin, I finally got some alone time with MeMe in a study room. We initially talked of school, but the conversation began to fade. MeMe, being clever and much less afraid of social interaction than I was, asked, “So what did you do over the summer?”

“I mostly just read books,” I replied, trying to sound mysterious and cool.

Then she asked a question I never saw coming. “What books did you read?”

With a shameful grin I said, “The Harry Potter series.”

I knew my chances for love were now over. But then, like Aphrodite arising from the ocean, she said, “I read the Harry Potter books this summer too.”

“I will marry her,” I thought to myself.

We grew closer over the course of the semester and in October I eventually worked up the courage to ask her on a date. We went to The Hound, a favorite of the Auburn locals. With its dark wood paneling and rustic ambiance, I thought it would be just dark enough inside that she wouldn’t notice how much food I was about to consume.

At the end of the date, we were walking back to my car. She quipped about how she would have been willing to pay for dinner, and that is when disaster struck.

Most humans would have responded with, “Don’t worry, it is my treat,” or something else classy and polite. But for some God-forsaken reason, I decided to say, “That would have made me the worst boyfriend ever.”

I felt like running away.

“Boyfriend?” I screamed internally. “This is your first date, boyfriend is not even in the realm of possibility at this point.”

I tried to calm myself. “Maybe she didn’t hear it,” I thought unconvincingly.

Months later I learned that she very clearly heard it, and was slightly taken aback, but being the kind-hearted woman that she was, pretended to ignore it.

By the grace of God, she continued to hang out with me, and on the 6th of November 2021, I properly asked her to be my girlfriend, and she accepted. To this day it is a mystery why she said yes, but I will forever be grateful for it.

I could continue to bore you with stories of our love, but out of respect for your time, I will leave you with this… Shakespeare once said that “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,” and I believe that to be true, because my head is ginormous, so my mind must be bursting with love for her.

See you at the wedding.

Will

Accommodations

The Whitley, a Luxury Collection Hotel, Atlanta Buckhead