Once upon a time I was a 12-year-old girl and I was going through some stuff. My parents were getting a divorce, my mom moved us across the country, far away from home, and all of my friends were moving on with their lives without me. I felt more alone than I ever had and ever will. It was tough.

But you didn’t come here for a sob story. You’re here for the love story.

Well, as it turned out, some rather unfortunate circumstances led to a fateful meeting. Not long after we moved, my mom put us all on a plane to visit my grandparents back home. During that visit I spent a day with my best friend, where she confided and that she had a crush on a boy from our homeschool group.

(Yes, we were homeschool weirdos.)

My best friend was never a particularly shy person but she hated doing things alone, so she dragged me along to her “date” with this boy. I didn’t know what to expect. She told me he was a dork, kind of weird, and that she was already having second thoughts about her feelings.

We waited for him in a mall food court. I still like the mingled smell of Chick-Fil-A and department store perfume because it reminds of me this day.

When a gangly 13-year-old boy with bright red hair approached us, sporting a pair of sunglasses inside, I felt my heart stop for a whole two beats. My friend had to introduce me because my tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth and I could only stare helplessly. I remember vividly the first thought I had when my brain came back online.

“This is the coolest boy I’ve ever met and I’m going to marry him someday.”

Over the years, people have tried to talk me out of my belief in love at first sight.

“It was just attraction.” They would say. “It was infatuation that grew into love.”

I get it. It’s hard to believe in love that begins with a look, with a smile, with a few simple words. It’s hard to believe in soul mates and intertwined destinies. But I do.

I knew that I was looking at the love of my life. I knew that he would be the only one to make me come alive.

I returned to Minnesota just two days after we met. I lived almost 1,500 miles away but the distance didn’t stop us. We stayed connected on AIM, chatting until the early morning hours. We had video calls and whispered into corded phones stretched taut from the kitchen into my bedroom. I remember sneaking upstairs to steal the extra cordless phone after killing the battery on the first one with a six hour conversation.

I also remember being asked to pay the bill for long distance calling. (Oops, sorry mom!)

Days bled into years and that silly boy grew into a tall, handsome young man. We stopped talking every day as our lives got busier but we never lost touch. Once he called me in the middle of the afternoon to read an excerpt from The Iliad. That was all he said before hanging up. I once called him late on a Saturday night, feeling heartbroken and defeated. He didn’t say anything then, only sat on the phone with me until we both fell asleep.

I was sixteen when I finally confessed to him that I was madly and hopelessly in love with him. So began our long distance love affair. I didn’t care that we were apart. Someday we would be together. I would make sure of it. I had two short years before I was off to college and I planned to apply to every single one in Texas if it meant being near him.

My determination must have impressed some higher power because not six months later, my mom moved us back to my childhood home.

We kissed on our second date and a hundred thousand times after that. Somedays it was all we did. By our third year together, we were engaged. We’ve now been married for almost seven years and we have beautiful baby boy.

On this day eleven years ago, my husband sent me a text message in the middle of the night (as was his style), asking if I would be his girlfriend. Obviously I said yes.

Now, I realize our story isn’t the same as an insta-love story. We didn’t meet, kiss, and elope within fifteen minutes. Let me tell you though, I would have. Had I met my husband when I was a grown woman, I would have proposed to him on the spot.

That probably wouldn’t have made for a very exciting story, would it?

The trick to insta-love, love at first sight, soul mates who are undeniably built for each other, isn’t giving them an immediate happily ever after. You can know you love someone and not commit yourself to them in an instant.

There is a difference between loving someone and falling in love with someone. When I met my husband, I knew I loved him deep down in my bones, but it was the years that followed where I fell in love with him. I learned all of his quirks, laughed at his jokes, and found reasons to be dedicated to each of his causes. That wouldn’t have happened overnight. You can love someone at first sight without feeling committed to them.

Some love is fleeting. My little sister experiences love at first sight at least once a week, she just never takes the time to fall in love with anyone.

To make love at first sight work in a story, you need to provide the “why” behind a character’s feelings. Otherwise, love at first sight does usually end up feeling like vapid infatuation. Why should we care? Why should they (your characters) care?

You might disagree with my definition of the word love. That’s fine. Love has a different meaning to each of us, which might be why romance is such a complicated genre with so many subgenres. Each and every person feels love in a way unique to them.

If you want me hooked on your story, define what that unique way is between your characters. Show me the three AM phone calls where they muffled giggles in their pillow so their mom wouldn’t hear. Show me the cheesy lines and bad jokes. Show me the heartbreak that brings them together.

That’s how you make a “love at first sight” trope work.