Note: When we last left you, Jessica had signed off with a bit of a cliffhanger, promising to tell "in our very next post" the story of one of the most amazing experiences we've had on our trip.

That post is still forthcoming, never fear. But first, we'd like to break into our regularly scheduled programming with this special announcement...

Jessica and I made each other a promise before we left home: we both agreed that I shouldn't propose to her during our trip. For one thing, we were worried that an otherwise exceptionally romantic and special night somewhere could be tinged with disappointment if it didn't end in a proposal. For another, there is absolutely nowhere I could have hidden a ring: on a trip like this, you come to know each others' luggage inside and out. So we promised.

It was a promise I never ever intended to keep.

Each year, Jessica gets to celebrate her birthday twice. On October 6th, her actual birthday, we celebrate with friends. And then the following day we celebrate her birthday again, this time just the two of us.

This year, because we were in England visiting friends, we pushed back our private celebration of her birthday, planning on doing it when we got to Istanbul.

And then I started stalling.

I had in fact planned from the beginning to propose to her on her birthday. It was the one day that I could go through all sorts of special secret preparations without her wondering why. And because I wanted everything to be absolutely perfect, I kept pushing it back. Further, and further, and further... until everything was right. Until Saturday, November 26th.

She loves candles. From time to time during our trip, we've had a few candles with us, for those times when we just wanted to make everything feel that much more cosy and special. I like to surprise her by lighting them whenever she's especially down: candles always seem to make her smile.

I wanted the night to start with more candles than she'd ever had before.

By a stroke of luck, I'd noticed packs of tea lights when we were at the supermarket: 6-packs, 12-packs, 20-packs, and even 50-packs. One night, on the pretense of going to the internet cafe, I'd snuck out and bought one of the 50-packs. Then, thinking about it, I bought a second 50-pack.

And then a third.

On November 26th, we walked home from a delightful dinner at the charming little English pub we've become quite attached to. I made her wait outside in the hall for a moment (well, perhaps a touch longer than a moment) and ran inside to get everything ready.

When I opened the door for her, a little path lit by lit candles led her out to the balcony. There, dozens and dozens more illuminated a table set with a collection of little munchies, and three birthday presents.

The ring was tricky.

I couldn't hide one on me before we left, without taking the risk of her discovering it. I couldn't buy one while we were on the road: we know each others' bank accounts just as well as we know each others' backpacks, and for a ring to be worthy of this purpose it would be far too expensive to escape notice. And most importantly, we're trying to travel without anything irreplaceable. Something as important and special as an engagement ring would be far too devastating to lose or have stolen.

All the same, though, I knew I could never propose without a ring. It was months before I figured out what to do.

It was without a doubt the most important moment of my life. Every detail is etched forever into my memory, and there is far, far too much to try and relate here. There isn't space, for instance, to describe her presents: it is enough to say that, step by step, they led the two of us towards what was coming without ever making her aware of what was happening.

I had solved the riddle of the ring. There's a ring we bought together in Argentina that she always, always wears. With some help from her final present, I got it from her without her realizing what was happening. I placed the ring into a very special box, told her I was going to perform some magic, and asked for her help.

When we opened the box again, I asked her if she could see what had happened. She shook her head, staring at the ring uncomprehendingly. I told her that the magic had changed the ring, that together she and I had changed it into... something else. I was holding the ring, still in the box, and slipped down onto one knee without her even realizing.

I told her that I loved her. I told her that I wanted the two of us to be together for the rest of our lives.

I told her that was why, the night before, I'd slipped away while she slept and called her father from the hotel lobby. To ask him for his blessing.

Realization flooded across her face, and tears began streaming down her cheeks.

I told her that there was a magic in the ring now, and that when we got home we would draw it out, and put it into another ring... one with a diamond. I told her that if anything ever happened to this ring before that, that would be ok, because we could put the magic into another ring.

My goal had always been to take her entirely by surprise. In this, I was more successful than I could have hoped. She was almost in a daze, blinking and asking for reassurance that I was serious. Her cheeks were tear-stained, her eyes were wide, her lips were trembling.

I told her that she was the most wonderful thing that had ever, ever happened to me. I told her I couldn't remember my life before her, and I couldn't imagine my life without her. My heart was pounding between my ears, and my throat was getting tight.

Everything that has come to pass in my life, good and bad, has led to this. Every single choice I've ever made, including all those I may have regretted at some point, every single one has led me here. To this.

"Jessica Danielle McHugh," I asked, my voice breaking, "will you marry me?"

She stood, her eyes alight behind fresh tears, and she placed her hands on either side of my face. "Yes," she whispered, "oh yes, my best beloved. Yes."