It wasn’t a picture-perfect proposal. Kamakura was soaked in rain, the kind that seeps into your shoes and somehow makes everything feel more cinematic, like a scene from an old samurai film. We moved between quiet shrines and weathered tea houses, umbrellas colliding, footsteps echoing on wet stone.

And then, right there, beneath dripping pine trees and the faint smell of matcha, he asked. No crowd. No spectacle. Just two people, soaked through, laughing, a little cold, and choosing to move forward together.