It was August 31st, 2012, and the end of a truly terrible week. Definitely one of the lowest points in my life. In fact, the only thing in my life that I had to look forward to was my visit to my brother in another part of the country. So there I was, waiting for my 6 pm flight from Idaho Falls to Salt Lake City on a Friday night. There was quite the storm over Salt Lake that evening, so the plane was late arriving to IFRA. Consequently, takeoff was considerably delayed and since we had to fly around the same storm, landing in SLC was even further delayed. By the time I made it off of the plane, my connecting flight was long gone. I had no choice but to stay overnight in the city and catch the earliest flight the next morning. The hotel I stayed in was about as new as it could be. It had a very modern design and landscaping had yet to be finished. I wasted no time getting to my room. I put all of my belongings on a chair, climbed into bed, and for a few minutes watched Real Time with Bill Maher and America's Next Top Model. I opted to simply go to sleep. I wasn't tired (it was incredibly early for me), but I did have a flight to catch in the morning and nothing deserving of my attention. The next morning I quickly got ready and left my room. I ate a small breakfast quietly in the lobby. After double-checking that the shuttle was on its way, I sat down on the edge of a lounge chair with my elbows on my knees and my gaze fixed upon the floor. A pair of feet approached and came to rest just in front of me. I looked up to see a man who appeared to be in his 30's, facing me. With a clear foreign accent, he says, "Hello. Excuse me. You look depressed. Is there anything I can do to help?" He was an Asian man. If I had to, I would guess that he was Japanese, but I will never be able to know for sure. Donning my best faked smile, I replied that I was fine, even though I knew well it was a lie. He responded, "Just tired?" I obliged, repeating, "Just tired," still forcing a convincing smile, and still very much lying. I had just gotten my first full-night's rest in at least a week. With that, our brief conversation ended and the shuttle arrived shortly thereafter. I spent that short ride thinking about the exchange--how strange it was to me, but also how much I admired his kindness toward an absolute stranger. I made it to my gate with no trouble, securing at least 50 minutes before the plane would begin boarding. I found myself a seat in the surprisingly empty concourse. I don't know why I was surprised; it was still early morning. I looked around and noticed that there were only a handfull of people sparsely occupying the rows of airport chairs. I also noticed a young woman sitting several rows away and facing me. Given the plethora of empty seats, I had an unobstructed, clear line of sight. I thought she was beautiful. I also thought she might have looked at me once or twice. I've always been an introvert, so approaching a pretty girl is not in my repertoire. Initiating conversation with a stranger basically constitutes mild torture. But I didn't dismiss it like I had always had. I pondered. It wasn't hard for me to conclude that I had nothing to lose, given the nature of the preceding week. It doesn't really get worse than rock-bottom. My alternative appeared to be 50 minutes of texting my dad since a nap was definitely out of the question. Even so, that wasn't enough to mobilize a chronic introvert. I still needed one thing: courage. Then I thought of the man at the hotel--the one who would go out of his way to approach a total stranger for no reason other than to show kindness. Surely I could muster enough to talk to a girl. And so my mind was made up. I grabbed my two bags, walked around the maze of airport chairs, and sat down next to the pretty girl. I had no idea what to say. I told her that striking up a conversation with a stranger wasn't my thing, but it seemed like as good a time as any to try. Over the next 40 minutes we learned a lot about each other: where we lived, where we went to school, where we grew up, what our families were like. Never the other's name, though. When it came time for her to board her plane, we said our farewells and she left. I didn't watch her walk away. I did glance over in time to see her as she reached her gate, but when I looked a moment later she was gone. For the next couple of minutes I just marinated on the conversation. I was fully aware that I never got her name. I knew that if I ever wanted to find her, the only usable information was her university and that she was from Arizona and that her father was once in the Navy. A long shot at best. I conceded to that being too unrealistic and instead valued the encounter for what it was: a nice conversation with a complete stranger. I didn't regret it. And so I waited for my plane to begin boarding. When a person is sitting alone, he or she will occasionally get the spontaneous urge look around, especially behind. Or maybe that's just me. Either way, I got that very urge as I was waiting to board. And when I looked directly behind me, I found something peculiar. At the gate where the young woman boarded her plane was a line. A sizable line. And she was in that line. She wasn't gone. It wasn't over yet. I did the smoothest thing I could possibly concoct in the moment. I grabbed my old boarding pass from the night before, walked directly to the young lady, gave it to her, said she could look me up if she ever wanted to talk to me again, and then boarded my plane. That is how I met my wife. TL;DR: I talked to a girl in the Salt Lake International Airport and later married her. Edit: Paragraph spacing