You and Me

“Do you ever wonder what life would’ve been like if we hadn’t missed that train?”

Emma asked, her fingers brushing the frosted window of the diner. Snowflakes danced outside, soft as the memories they stirred.

Liam smiled, stirring his coffee, the same way he always did—clockwise, three times, then a sip. “We didn’t miss it,” he said. “We were meant to.”

That was the start of it all. Not just the snowstorm, or the detour, or the coffee that had long gone cold. But the unraveling of what they thought life was supposed to be—and what it truly became.

The Missed Train

It was December 2008. Emma was heading to Chicago for a job interview, and Liam was on his way to Minneapolis for his sister’s wedding. Strangers with opposite destinations, they stood beside each other at a quiet station in Madison, Wisconsin, waiting on a train that never came. A storm had blown through the night before, blanketing the tracks and freezing the world in white silence.

The announcement came late: All departures canceled until further notice.

Most travelers groaned, made calls, or booked hotel rooms. But Emma, suitcase in hand and nerves shot from a sleepless night, sat on the wooden bench and sighed.

Liam noticed. He offered a coffee from the vending machine. She accepted with a nod, the kind of quiet surrender that speaks louder than words.

They spent six hours in that station. Talking. Laughing. Waiting.

She told him about her dream to work in design—how she’d left a stable job in Ohio for a shot at something she couldn’t quite define. He told her about his wanderlust, how photography was the only way he made sense of the world.

When the roads reopened, Emma decided not to go to Chicago. Liam asked if she’d like to see some of the hidden places he’d photographed in the Midwest. She said yes.

The Road Less Expected

What followed was a road trip neither had planned. From the frozen lakes of Minnesota to the quiet fields of Iowa, they built something unexpected. They took photos, made playlists, argued over gas station snacks, and watched stars from the back of Liam’s Jeep.

Every town held a new moment. A barn dance in Nebraska. A bonfire with strangers in South Dakota. Pancakes at midnight in a diner lit by neon.

They called it "the accidental journey."

Two weeks turned into two months. Eventually, Emma moved in with Liam in a small apartment above a bookstore in Des Moines. He photographed weddings and landscapes. She designed logos for local cafes and boutique shops. Nothing grand. But everything real.

Moments That Matter

There were hard days. Missed bills. Rejected projects. Arguments about laundry and late nights editing photos. But they held onto the little things: morning walks with coffee, handwritten notes on the fridge, silent hugs when words fell short.

They didn’t chase perfect.

They built true.

When Liam’s sister was diagnosed with cancer in 2015, they moved back to Minneapolis to care for her. Emma put her career on hold. Liam sold most of his camera gear to help with medical bills. It was painful, exhausting, and yet—it brought them closer than ever.

One night, after a long shift at the hospital, they lay on the couch, holding hands in the dark.

“Even now,” Emma whispered, “I wouldn’t trade any of it.”

“Me neither,” Liam said. “You and me. That’s all that ever mattered.”

Full Circle

Now, nearly seventeen years later, they sit in the same diner near that train station in Madison. They visit every December, no matter the weather.

The snow still falls. The coffee still cools too fast. But now, it’s tradition.

Emma slides a small photo across the table. It’s grainy, black and white, taken on a phone—but unmistakable. A tiny hand. A blurred face.

“Coming June,” she says, smiling.

Liam leans back, eyes wide, laughter in his chest. “You and me… and now, us.”

Because sometimes the best journeys begin with a train you never catch.