That Unforgettable March

That March, you know, was one of those months where you feel like the universe is testing your patience and mental stamina.
Especially when your relationship is just as unpredictable as the weather outside sometimes its spring, sometimes its practically the end of the world, and sometimes it’s as if someone splashed grey paint over the whole city.
So, the love story between Oliver and Emily bloomed in March, which really explained a lot about them.
Other couples meet under cherry blossom trees, but these two?
Their first meeting happened when Oliver splashed Emily with muddy water, completely by accident, and instead of crying, she expertly lobbed a slushy snowball right at his windscreen Oliver still swears there was a brick inside that thing.
It was honestly love at first ricochet.
March in their city, lets say Manchester, is the kind of time when romance steps out into the street wearing wellies.
Fancy a walk? Oliver whispers down the phone, all gentle and hopeful.
I dont have a boat, Emily replies, deadpan.
Ill carry you piggyback.
Their dates basically looked like a SAS training exercise Oliver heroically carrying Emily across puddles filled with melted snow, while she holds an umbrella over him thats desperately trying to fly away towards Liverpool, taking their hopes for dry socks along with it.
See, Em, Oliver philosophises as his right boot squelches, this is what deep feelings are all about.
Were just like those ducks in the park.
Ducks emigrated in October, Oliver.
Were more like two lost penguins that missed the turn to Antarctica.
Their weird love showed in the little things.
In March, deep affection isnt about dropping a ring in a champagne glass (which would just catch an ice cube anyway); its about splitting the very last Lemsip sachet in half.
Here you go, says Oliver, handing her half the lemon powder.
Ripped from my heart.
Whys it covered in cat fur?
Thats a garnish.
For immunity.
Emily would look at him with his ridiculous bobble hat, red nose, and wild twinkle in his eye and just know, this was it.
The universe had glitched, bringing together two people capable of laughing with fevers (which, as you know, is near-terminal for most blokes).
The real romantic moment hit at the months end, when the sun finally peeked out and revealed everything winter had hidden under its blanket.
The town looked like a set for some sitcom about council workers rising up.
Standing together on a bridge, the wind whipped at Olivers jacket as if it was trying to steal it.
Emily, he began, fighting to make himself heard over the roar of spring, I wanted to say Youre like like the first snowdrop!
As pale as a ghost and struggling through rubbish? Emily teased, tweaking the scarf that had wrapped around her head three times.
Oliver hesitated.
No.
As tough as nails.
Despite this bloody March, youve stuck with me.
Even after I dropped your phone in a snowdrift That was actually a puddle.
Emily looked at him, sneezed (right as a tram rattled past), and burst out laughing.
Alright, hero-snowdrop, lets go home.
Ive bought a kilo of lemons and found a mulled wine recipe.
If we survive this Sunday, Ill declare our love a historic monument.
Off they went, dodging icebergs on the pavement.
Their love was truly deep deep to the knees, thanks to the amount of water in their buildings entryway.
But none of that mattered.
Because in that March, it wasnt about how spotless your shoes were, but whose hand you held as you both slid towards the inevitable April.
Another year ticked by.
A new March arrived.
Manchester now resembled the set of Waterworld, filmed on a budget of three quid.
Oliver and Emily stood before a monster puddle, one that had annexed their entire block overnight.
Residents huddled near fences, edging along the rim of the ice, and some retiree stared up at the sky, hoping for a rescue helicopter or at least a dove with an olive branch.
Oliver, Emily began, eyeing her brand new white trainers bought during a fit of misplaced optimism, Were grown-ups now.
We have a mortgage, jobs, and a year-end report.
We cant just
We absolutely can, Oliver interrupted.
Like a magician, he suddenly produced two bright yellow wellies decorated with cheerful ducklings.
Bought them yesterday.
Your size.
Emily sighed.
This was the kind of deep love where your partner knows not only your shoe size, but your capacity for silliness.
Five minutes later, there they were dead centre of the massive puddle.
Water splashed gleefully, sunlight bounced off dirty ice, and passers-by looked at them like a pair of escapees from some gentle but very private institution.
You know, Emily jumped, sending a spray of water over their neighbour in a posh mink hat, this is the best spring launch ever.
This is operation Yellow Duck, Oliver declared, serious as anything.
The universe tried to drown us in gloom, but weve got waterproof heels.
Standing there amid spring madness ridiculous, soaked, but utterly in sync theirs was a love only understood by those who can find the bottom even when everyone else only sees muck.
Oliver pulled her close, and suddenly the sun hit so hard their jackets started steaming.
Were on fire, Emily noted.
No, Oliver grinned, weve finally warmed up to just the right temperature.
That March, they understood: if life throws puddles your way, grab the brightest wellies you can find and learn to dance in them.