Happy Birthday,
Souhaila

Some stories begin with a glance across a crowded room. Ours began quietly — and never stopped.

You turned ordinary afternoons into the kind of memories I replay before falling asleep.

There's a version of me that only exists when you're laughing at something I said.

We collected these moments the way some people collect stamps — carefully, and without ever meaning to stop.

Somewhere between the small talk and the silences, I found the person I wasn't looking for.

Every photograph here is proof that falling in love in real time still leaves a trace.

You make even the waiting — for food, for flights, for weekends — feel like part of the story.

I didn't plan on writing a love story. You just kept showing up in every page.

The best days were rarely the loud ones. They were the ones where it was just us.

If I could bottle a single feeling, it would be the quiet after a long day, next to you.

This is what happiness looks like when nobody's trying to perform it for a camera.

Some people search their whole lives for this kind of easy, unremarkable joy.

By now the album isn't full of firsts anymore — just the small, ordinary happiness of choosing each other, again and again.

And still, after all these frames, my favorite picture is whatever comes next with you.