On their twentieth anniversary Jasmin put on the jacket he had last taken from the wardrobe exactly a year earlier. Aida stood at the mirror choosing between two dresses unsuited to a warm evening. They had reserved the same table at the restaurant of their first dinner. Every year they repeated the journey, ordered similar dishes, and posed before the same window. Friends called having a tradition wonderful. Nobody asked whether they still enjoyed it.
In recent years Jasmin barely tolerated the loud music replacing the former quiet. Aida disliked sitting so long in clothes she wanted to remove immediately. Each believed the restaurant meant a great deal to the other. They silently maintained the custom like an old plant nobody liked anymore but feared ceasing to water. That evening Jasmin lost patience with a cuff button and cursed loudly enough for Aida to hear from the bathroom.
She asked whether he wanted to go at all. He said of course; it was their anniversary. Aida repeated the question more slowly. Looking at her in the mirror, he admitted not wanting the restaurant. She sat on the bed, surprised by relief, and said neither did she. They laughed for several minutes at the dinners spent protecting the other's supposed wish. Then Jasmin canceled early enough that the restaurant would not wait for them.
They changed into ordinary clothes and went out without a reservation. They bought roasted corn and sat beside a playground. Aida said this did not resemble an important anniversary. Jasmin replied that he could produce a ring from his pocket but had no second one. She laughed while butter ran over her fingers. They did not try repeating youth. They discussed things they could not have known then: children, work, exhaustion, and funny habits they developed.
Later they passed the old restaurant. Through its window they saw their table and another couple looking perfectly happy at it. Aida did not feel they had betrayed anything. The place remained part of their story without needing the same continuation annually. Jasmin took her hand and suggested ice cream. They chose different flavors, as they once did before finding a shared one neither liked best.
The following year they spent the anniversary at home because it rained. They created no new compulsory tradition with corn and a bench. Jasmin took out his jacket for cleaning, and Aida asked where he was going now. He said nowhere; he merely wanted it ready when he actually wished to wear it. She kissed him in the hallway, without a window behind them requiring another photograph.