We were both Fellows at the AFI Conservatory — Syd for screenwriting, Anya for editing — but we never met. Syd graduated two years before Anya arrived, which feels symbolic of something, though we’re not quite sure what.

We finally met the modern way: on a dating app. Our first date was at The Baked Potato, a jazz club with low lighting and tightly packed tables. It went incredibly well — so well that neither of us can recall a single note of music.

After that, we kept seeing each other. A lot.

When the pandemic hit, Syd just kind of stayed — and by the time we noticed, it was permanent. Our apartment became its own little world: movies, take-out, small domestic disagreements, and, somewhere in there, love.

Eventually, we moved to Las Vegas. Anya edited Blue Men and Showgirls. Syd pitched scripts over Zoom, rarely finishing a sentence without a frozen screen.

Then came Paris — a trip to see Woody Allen’s final jazz concert at Le Grand Rex Theatre. After the show, Syd proposed on a balcony at a Sicilian restaurant overlooking the Eiffel Tower. He dropped the ring a few times during dinner and blamed it on a heavy fork. Anya said yes anyway.

Now we’re back in LA. Syd from Chicago, Anya from Russia — two people who somehow found each other across the world. We’ve lived through a global pandemic, a move to the desert, health scares, and a devastating wildfire. Still happy. Still watching movies. Still arguing about parking.

We’re truly looking forward to the day — and even more to sharing it with all of you.

Registry