Josephine was reshelving the poetry section on a Tuesday in November when a tall man asked her where to find “anything by Rilke that doesn’t rhyme.” She found him three books and her phone number. He read all three, called on the Thursday, and has been reading to her ever since.

On the twelfth of April we’re returning to the library where it began, to read one final passage — our vows — under the willow by the west wing.