The night air felt deliciously cool after the crowded room. The streets were almost empty, glistening beneath the streetlamps as though the city itself had decided to slow its pace for us.

Neither of us seemed in any hurry to reach the car.

Conversation came easily, drifting from moments we’d just shared to stories neither of us had intended to tell. We laughed at things that probably weren’t especially funny, but somehow became hilarious simply because we were together.

Every now and then we’d fall comfortably silent, exchanging nothing more than a glance and a smile that said far more than words ever could.

I remember thinking that evenings like this are wonderfully deceptive. You imagine you’ll remember the grand occasions, the celebrations and the photographs.

Instead, what stays with you is the walk afterwards.

The unhurried footsteps.

The easy companionship.

The quiet certainty that, for a little while, the rest of the world had become wonderfully unimportant.

Some memories don’t begin when the camera clicks.