We met in New York — a city that belongs to no one, which somehow made it the right place for two people from very different corners of the world to find each other. We didn't know then what the other carried: Griffin, a long history of wandering; Lucía, a city she'd left but never truly left behind.

The first time Griffin visited Seville, Lucía didn't narrate it like a tour guide. She just walked. Through the Barrio de Santa Cruz at dusk, past the cathedral, through the Feria grounds when they were quiet and empty. What he saw was a city that was completely hers — in the way she said hello to her neighbours, in the bars she chose and the ones she skipped, in the way she moved differently on those streets than anywhere else.

It happened in Seville. Not at a monument or a fancy restaurant — in a small courtyard in Triana, late evening, with the smell of azahar still faintly in the air. Griffin asked, Lucía said yes, and somewhere in the city the church bells rang on schedule and nothing about the moment needed to be more than it was.

Seville is Lucía's home. That's the whole answer. This isn't a place we chose for the photos or the backdrop — it's the place that shaped one of us, and through her, both of us. We want to celebrate here not because it's beautiful (though it is), but because it's real. And we want to share that with the people we love.