This wedding changed something in me. I've photographed hundreds of love stories, but Kevin and Terence's journey to that first public kiss took seven years.

Let me tell you how they got here.

They met on Facebook in 2009 through a mutual friend. Kevin was in Taiwan, Terence in Hong Kong. For months, they talked on Skype, falling in love through screens before they ever touched. When they finally met in person in December 2009, they both knew.

But loving each other meant living apart. For a year, they navigated visas, distance, and the uncertainty of whether they'd ever get to build a life together. In 2011, Kevin finally moved to Hong Kong to be with Terence.

Then life tested them. Illness, visa struggles, moments when it felt like everything might fall apart. But they chose to fight for each other, through every obstacle.

Here's the part that broke my heart: they had to tell people they were cousins. Cousins. Just to live together without questions, without stares, without having to explain why two men shared an apartment and a life but never held hands in public.

For years, they lived this double life. Love behind closed doors, performance in public. Can you imagine never being able to kiss the person you love most? Never holding their hand on the street? Never showing the world what they mean to you?

Seven years. Seven years of fighting for their love, hiding their love, protecting their love.

And then they came to Copenhagen.

When we started shooting portraits the day before their wedding, I suggested we start early in the morning. Not because of the light - though it was beautiful - but because I could see they were nervous. Seven years of hiding doesn't disappear overnight.

But Copenhagen has this magic. It's a city that gives you space to breathe, to be, to love without looking over your shoulder.

I watched them that first morning, walking through empty streets, and something shifted. Terence reached for Kevin's hand. Kevin didn't pull away. They looked at each other - really looked - without checking who might be watching.

The moment before their first public kiss? I almost put my camera down. It felt too sacred, too private. But then I realized - this is exactly the moment that needs to be witnessed. Not just their first public kiss, but their first moment of complete freedom.

Seven years of love, finally allowed to exist in daylight.

This marriage might not be recognized where they come from, but that kiss? That joy? That freedom? No law can touch that.

Watching them move through Copenhagen with quiet pride reminded me why I love this city for elopements. It doesn't just host your wedding - it gives you permission to love without rules.

If you're considering your own celebration here, know this: Copenhagen doesn't just capture your love story. It sets it free.