One day a boy gave a girl a ring. You may have heard that one recently, may have even gotten something like that in the mail. However, long before that boy gave that girl a ring, a boy and a girl met in an office in Southampton College in Southampton, New York.

It was a beautiful fall day. James, the editor of The Windmill, was seated at his desk in the newspaper's office, drinking a cup of tea and going over some upcoming stories he needed covered for the first issue of the semester. He was disturbed by a knock at the door, which was followed by the grand entrance of a beautiful young girl (because let's face it, we were still kids then) who swept into the room and introduced herself as Estelle Hallick, a freshman who wanted to write for the paper. Whatever other words were spoken have long since disappeared into the ether of memory, and besides, the editor was so floored by the beauty of the girl that he had momentarily lost all capacity for normal speech and sense.

Later, there were office meetings, staff meetings, general meetings, e-mail communications. Things were civil, cordial, and perfectly professional. Assignments were given by the editor and dutifully provided by the reporter. Then came a twist of fate. The editor, who was thrust into his position with little training, had handed the reins to the graphic designer to format and edit the gathered stories and produce the belated first issue. The designer, for reasons unknown, chose not to publish any of the stories written by Estelle.

Cue ominous music.

The day the first issue released, or maybe the day after, James was, again, sitting in his office. A cup of tea beside him, he was puzzling over a Mac and trying to figure out how to use Quark so he could produce the second issue himself. He was disturbed once again by Estelle, but this disturbance was much less pleasant. The sum and substance of the words spoken are also lost in the mist of time, but it was clear that she was personally affronted at being snubbed by the editor. The editor was, of course, stunned that such an incident had occurred and frankly was so busy he had not even realized their absence from the paper. As the editor tried to explain, it quickly became clear that no assurances could be made and the damage had been done.

The thought most pressing in James' mind as Estelle left the office was that she was still beautiful, even when angry. In the end, he was most upset that he had inadvertently made her mad and ruined any hope of a relationship.

Subsequently, the editor resigned his post. Of course, the two had numerous classes together over the remainder of their time at school. They purposely avoided each other - her out of anger and him out of sheepishness. Their conversations, few and far between, were short, awkward and stilted. Estelle eventually took over the reins as editor of The Windmill, and James only watched from afar as she took the mangled mess he had left and turned it into a wonderful little paper.

And of course, he would never talk to her again, would he?

May 2005. The former editor, James, is graduating. Unfortunately, his will be the last graduating class ever from Southampton College. Estelle, being 2 years younger, was not graduating and was going to transfer to another school. After graduating, James decided he wanted to tie up loose ends so he sent a nice message to her on Facebook. It was a simple, cordial message, wishing her the best. She sent a similar reply, and nothing else happened for some time.

Life went on. James returned to his childhood home on Long Island and continued playing in a metal band, working in retail, and trying to figure out his life. Estelle went back to her childhood home in New Jersey, working retail and getting set for a new semester in a new school. Later that summer, although neither knows how, they began exchanging comments on their MySpace pages. These comments turned into messages; the messages turned into instant-messenger chats; the instant-messenger chats turned into phone calls.

Something was brewing, and neither could explain it. There was no magical reconciliation or anything silly like that; he said he was sorry, it wasn't his fault; she explained that she was upset at the way the situation was handled. They laughed about it, got over it, and realized they had a special chemistry.

They went on their first date in September. They met in the city and had salads and walked around. It was a hot, sticky, humid night, and James' shoulder-length hair was frizzy and crazy, and he chain-smoked cigarettes out of nervousness. Estelle, who as many know is usually the chattiest person around, was rather quiet and let James do all the talking. It ended cordially, with no kiss, no protracted hug, as James dropped her off at the Port Authority and began the long drive back to his house on Long Island. Estelle insists to this day it was not a date; James insists otherwise.

Weeks later, they went on their first real date, venturing out to Southampton and having dinner at their favorite restaurant. A few hours later, they kissed. They have not looked back since.

They often talked about how funny it was that they were together. "I used to hate you!" she would say with a smile. They went on vacations together, to Las Vegas and to Aruba and eventually to her most favorite place, Walt Disney World. She came to his shows, and he read all of her writing. She helped him find a job and begin a career, and he helped her with homework through college. She encouraged him to cut his hair, quit smoking, and exercise more often. He showed her how to laugh more often and have more fun with life, and rekindled her love of the Yankees.

They learned how to live with each other when James got an apartment and Estelle visited on weekends. Soon, they found themselves looking at shiny engagement rings. Before they knew it, James was walking into Estelle's house with a large tray covered in tin foil. He placed it on the kitchen table and told Estelle to look inside. There were 2 dozen cupcakes, iced to read, "Will you marry me?" A brilliant "sparkler" was in the center.

Now they own a home and are planning a wedding. When the time finally comes on Saturday, March 5, 2011, at the Newark Club in New Jersey, the editor and the reporter will have truly come full circle in their relationship. The pair who used to avoid each other will promise to spend the rest of their lives together, and they couldn't be happier to share the moment with their closest family and friends.

Written by James