Eight complete stories

Wedding website our story examples, three lines to 367 words

Updated September 2026Written by the Wedvite founders

Sixty to a hundred and fifty words suits most couples: how you met, one detail only the two of you would have noticed, and one line about the day ahead. Keep it short and the venue, the schedule and the RSVP stay in reach below it. The eight complete examples run from thirty-six words to three hundred and sixty-seven.

Start your invitation

What do you write in a wedding website’s our story?

Three things, in this order. One line on how you met, with a place or a year in it. One detail only the two of you would have noticed — the plate of cake, the radiator that screams, the argument about a sofa — because that is the part a guest repeats to somebody else. Then one line that looks forward to the wedding and hands the reader back to the practical information.

What you are not writing is an obituary of the relationship. The guest reading this is on a phone, they arrived to find the start time or to reply, and they will give the section about twenty seconds on the way past. The version worth writing survives twenty seconds and rewards the person who reads all of it. A chronology beginning in 2014 does neither.

So the specific detail is not decoration, it is the entire mechanism. Two couples can write the same sentence about meeting at university; the one who mentions the single working shower is the one whose story gets read aloud at a table on the day. You do not need drama, and you do not need to be a writer. You need one thing that could not have been written about anybody else.

One thing this section is not: the welcome line at the very top of the page. That is a different job, done in one or two sentences, and the full running order — what sits above your story, what sits below it, and what a site can live without — belongs to what to include on a wedding website. Come back here for the words.

Which our story example fits yours?

Eight complete stories, written for this page, each a different length and a different voice. None is a fragment: change the names, the places and the dates and you have a finished section. The word count printed on each card is the real count of the text beside it, so you can see exactly what 96 words looks like before you decide to write 367.

1. Three sentences, when the story is not the point
2. The short version, one anecdote
3. The long version, with subheads
4. When the story is ordinary
5. Together a long time before the wedding
6. A second marriage, with children
7. Told in two voices
8. The bio version, in the third person

The shape underneath barely moves — how you met, one specific thing, a line about the day. What changes is the length and who is speaking, and those two choices are the whole decision. Every couple, place and date below is invented; nobody's real story is published here.

1. Three sentences, when the story is not the point

36 words

You want the section to exist, you do not want to write an essay, and the wedding is in eleven weeks.

Nadia and I met at a bus stop in Leeds in 2019.

Six years, three flats and one accidental cat later, we are getting married.

Everything you need for the day is further down this page.

Three facts: where you met, roughly how long it has been, and a line that hands the guest back to the practical information. This is a complete our story — not a placeholder — and it is the right choice far more often than couples think. Change the names, the place and the year, and keep the specific throwaway detail (the cat) rather than tidying it out; it is the only thing here that could not have been written about anybody else.

2. The short version, one anecdote

96 words

The default. Two or three paragraphs, one scene told properly, and the wedding at the end.

We met at a friend’s birthday in the spring of 2019 — the kind of party where nobody knows more than three other people, so you end up talking to one person all night. That was Priya, holding a plate of cake she had no intention of eating.

Five years later, in a parking lot outside a garden center on a cold Tuesday in February, Daniel asked, badly, and Priya said yes before he had finished the sentence.

We are getting married on September 12th at Blackberry Farm, and we are so glad you will be there.

One scene, one turn, one forward-looking line. The parking lot is doing the work: an unglamorous detail is more convincing than a beautiful one, and it is the sentence people will quote back to you at the reception. Note the date format — match whatever the rest of your site uses, because a guest reading 12/09 will not all read it the same way.

3. The long version, with subheads

367 words

For couples who genuinely want to tell it, and whose guests are split between two families who have barely met.

How we met

In October 2017 we were both working at a bookshop that no longer exists, in a basement with one radiator. Marcus had been there two years and had strong opinions about the fiction shelves. Leila arrived in the second week of October and rearranged them on her third shift. We did not speak properly for a month.

What changed it was a flood. A pipe went in the ceiling above Travel on a Sunday in November, and the two of us spent six hours moving four thousand books upstairs in supermarket crates. Somewhere around the third hour Leila said something about her father that she had not told anyone else at work, and Marcus, who is not a natural listener, listened.

The middle part

The middle is the part nobody puts on a wedding website, so here is ours in short: two years in Manchester, one year apart when Leila’s mother was ill, a return, a flat with bad light, and a very long conversation on a bench in Platt Fields in the spring of 2021 that decided most of what has happened since.

We are not the same two people who carried those books up the stairs. We have argued about money, about whose family we see at Christmas, and at considerable length about a sofa. It has still been, by a wide margin, the best seven years either of us has had.

The proposal

There was no photographer. In August 2024 we drove to Anglesey for four days, were rained on for three of them, and on the last morning, on the beach at Llanddwyn with the tide going out, Marcus asked. Leila said, and we quote, “obviously”. Then we went and had chips.

The wedding

We are getting married on 6 June at Plas Dinam, in the valley where Marcus’s grandparents met — which we did not plan, and only noticed afterwards. There will be a long lunch, too many speeches, and dancing until the taxis come.

You are on a short list of people we want in that room. The schedule, the map and the RSVP are all further down this page. Please do reply either way — we would rather know.

Four beats, each under its own subhead, because 367 words in one block is a wall and nobody reads a wall on a phone. The honesty is the reason this one works: a year apart, an argument about a sofa, no photographer. Cut the beat you cannot make specific — three good beats beat four, one of which is filler. If a long story is the whole point of your site, drag the Our story section below Venue & date and RSVP in the editor — and flip the closing line when you do, because as written it hands the guest downward.

4. When the story is ordinary

141 words

You met on an app, nothing cinematic has happened, and every example you have read makes you feel short-changed.

We met on Hinge in February 2022. There is no better version of that sentence, and we have stopped looking for one.

The first date was a bar in Logan Square that we have since been back to eleven times. The second was the same bar. By the fourth we had both quietly cancelled other plans for the weekend.

Nothing dramatic has happened to us since. We got an apartment with a radiator that screams. We learned to cook four things well. We have spent a great many ordinary Sundays doing very little, which turns out to be the thing we are both best at.

So that is the story: an app, a bar, and six hundred quiet evenings. We are getting married on May 3rd, and we would love you to come and be loud in the middle of it.

The move here is to stop competing. Name the app without apology, then spend the words on texture instead of drama — the same bar four times, the screaming radiator, the four meals. Specific is the opposite of boring; dramatic is not. If you are stuck, answer three questions in writing and pick the two best sentences: what did you first notice, what does an ordinary Sunday look like, and what would your closest friend say you are like together.

5. Together a long time before the wedding

151 words

Ten years in, and every guest is quietly wondering the same thing, so answer it once and move on.

We have been together since 2012, which means several of you have known us as a couple for longer than you have known your own children.

We met at university in Sheffield, in a house with five other people and one working shower. We moved to London, then out of London again. We bought a flat in 2018 and a house in 2023. We have a fourteen-year-old car and a nine-year-old dog. We have been to eleven of your weddings.

People have asked, kindly and often, why now. The honest answer is that there was never a year when getting married was the most urgent thing in it, and this year there was finally nothing more urgent. That is all. No crisis, no ultimatum, no change of heart.

So: 20 September, the same two people, a considerably better party. Thank you for waiting, and for never once making it a question.

Answer “why now” in one paragraph, in your own words, and the question stops following you around the reception. Two things to avoid: a defensive tone, and a joke at the expense of whichever of you took longer. The closing thank-you is doing real work — it tells the people who never asked that you noticed they never asked.

6. A second marriage, with children

179 words

It is a second wedding for one or both of you, children are part of the day, and you would rather nobody had to guess how to behave.

This is a second marriage for both of us, and we have thought about how to say that here.

We met in 2021, at a parents’ evening, comparing notes on the same maths teacher. Sofia has two daughters, Ella and Nour; Adam has a son, Tom. The five of us have been one household since the summer of 2023, which took patience from three people who did not choose any of it.

We are not going to pretend the first halves of our lives did not happen. They gave us our children, and our children are the best thing either of us has. This day is not a correction; it is a beginning that happens to start in the middle.

Ella, Nour and Tom will all stand with us. And if you are wondering whether to mention any of this on the day: please do not worry about it. We are cheerful and unembarrassed on the subject, and so are they.

We are getting married on 11 April, quietly, in front of fifty people who have held us up.

Name it once, plainly, in the first line — the alternative is a page that reads as though it is hiding something. Three rules hold this together: do not disparage a first marriage, do not erase it either, and name the children if they are part of the day. The last paragraph before the wedding line is the one most couples leave out and should not: telling guests how to be is a kindness, and it is the only thing on the page that stops a roomful of people tiptoeing.

7. Told in two voices

184 words

Half the room knows one of you and not the other, and you want them to hear both before the day.

From Ruth

I noticed Owen in a meeting in 2018 because he was the only person who admitted he had not read the document. He then talked about it for four minutes anyway, correctly. I thought: that is either a very confident man or a very lucky one. Seven years later I still have not decided.

From Owen

I had read the document. What I had not done was understand it. Ruth asked one question at the end of that meeting that made everyone else’s questions look silly, and I spent the afternoon looking for a reason to email her. I found three.

From both of us

We got together that autumn, moved in the following March, and have since collected two nephews, a badly tuned piano and a shared and mildly worrying interest in maps. Owen asked in the kitchen in January with the extractor fan running, which is why Ruth made him ask twice.

We are getting married on 27 June at Hasfield Court. Everything practical is below: timings, parking, the RSVP, and what to wear if it rains, which it will.

Three rules, and they are what keep this from going wrong. Label each voice so nobody has to work out who is speaking. Keep the two passages within a line or two of each other in length, because a guest will count. And close with a joint paragraph, or the section ends as a competition with no result. One of you will write both halves in practice; read them aloud before publishing, and give the other a veto.

8. The bio version, in the third person

109 words

You would rather not write prose at all — or you want the shape a couple of short bios give, which some sites call an “about us”.

Chloé, 31

Grew up in Lyon, came to Edinburgh for a master’s and never left. Architect. Runs slowly and often. Makes the decisions in this relationship and will not be told otherwise. Met Sam in 2020 at a climbing wall, where she was the better climber.

Sam, 33

From Newcastle. Teaches history to fifteen-year-olds and claims to enjoy it. Cooks everything at least ten minutes too long. Owner of the dog in most of the photographs, and rarely mentioned without her.

Together

Together since 2020. Engaged in 2025 on a hill above Aviemore. Getting married on 16 August in front of ninety people, most of whom are reading this.

A bio and an our story are the same section wearing different clothes: third person, present tense, short sentences, and one joint block at the end so the page is about a couple rather than two strangers. It suits a wedding where the two sides of the room do not know each other, and it is by far the easiest version to write if prose makes you freeze. Keep the two bios the same length, and keep the jokes affectionate — a line that is funny to you can read as a complaint to a guest who has met one of you once.

How long should the our story be, and where does the long version go?

Sixty to a hundred and fifty words for most couples. That is example two, and it is enough for one scene told properly. Thirty-six words is also a finished section rather than a failure — example one — and it is the right answer far more often than couples believe. Past about four hundred, a guest on a phone stops reading, so if you want the long telling, break it with subheads the way example three does: four short beats read as four short pieces instead of one wall.

Length is not really the decision, though. Position is — and on an invitation built here the story already sits high: after your names, the date and the countdown, and above the venue, the schedule and the RSVP. That is exactly right for a hundred words and exactly wrong for four hundred, because a long story in that slot pushes the arrival time off the first screen, and the first screen is the only one a lot of guests ever see. So either keep it short where it is, or drag the Our story section below Venue & date and RSVP in the editor and let the practical information come first. Either way, close the story by pointing guests at wherever the details actually are. If you want to see the section sitting in a finished page rather than on its own, twenty live wedding website examples open on a phone.

On an invitation built here the section is called Our story in the editor: a heading line you can retype and one text box under it. The box keeps your line breaks, so a story pasted in as paragraphs stays paragraphs and example three’s subheads survive the paste. If yours wants more room than one section, there are five extra free-text sections to carry a second part — and the whole thing sits inside the wedding website with the schedule, the map and the RSVP.

Writing and designing it costs nothing: build the whole page, story included, and your first 10 guests can open the link before any money changes hands. Taking the limit off is $49 at checkout today — $89 list, with the discount running until Oct 31 applied automatically — paid once, whatever the guest count, hosted through your wedding date and at least 90 days after.

What do you write when the story is ordinary?

Almost every story is ordinary. You met at work, or on an app, or through the same three friends, and nothing since has been cinematic. The page that makes you feel short-changed is not evidence of a better relationship — it is evidence of a better sentence.

Three questions get you one. Answer them on paper, not on the website: what was the first thing you actually noticed about them; what does an ordinary Sunday look like in your house; what would your closest friend say the two of you are like together. Two sentences out of those three answers is a story, and it will be truer than anything you could have invented.

Then stop competing. Example four names the app in its first line and spends the rest of its words on a bar visited eleven times and a radiator that screams. Specific is the opposite of boring. Dramatic is not. A page can be funny, too, as long as the joke is on the situation rather than on either of you.

One thing not to do: invent. A proposal that did not happen the way you describe it is a strange thing to publish to two hundred people, several of whom were in the room.

How do you write it for a second marriage, or a long gap?

Two different situations that arrive with the same worry: guests are going to do arithmetic, and you would rather they did not get it wrong.

For a second marriage, name it once, plainly, in the first line — example six does — and then get on with the story. Three rules hold the rest together. Do not disparage a first marriage. Do not erase it either; it produced your children, and your guests know that. And name the children if they are part of the day, rather than referring to “the kids”. Then add the sentence most couples leave out, the one telling guests they are free to mention it: a roomful of people tiptoeing around a subject you are relaxed about is the worst possible outcome of a well-meant silence.

For a long gap — nine years together, engaged at last — answer “why now” in one paragraph and move on. Everybody is already wondering, and one honest paragraph retires the question for the whole day. Example five does it in three sentences and then thanks the people who never asked, which is the part worth stealing. Two things to avoid: a defensive tone, and the joke at the expense of whichever of you took longer. It lands differently in print than it does at home.

Should one of you write it, or both?

One voice is smoother, quicker and what most couples publish. Two voices are more charming and do one specific job well: they let a guest who knows only one of you hear the other before the day. If half your room is your partner's family, that is worth the extra paragraph.

If you take two voices, three rules. Label them, so nobody has to work out who is speaking. Keep them within a line or two of the same length, because guests do count. And close with a joint paragraph, or the section ends as a competition with no result — example seven is built exactly that way.

In practice one of you will write both halves, and that is fine; it is a wedding website, not a sworn statement. The rule is that the other reads it aloud and holds a veto on any sentence about them. Reading aloud also catches the thing spellcheck cannot: a story that sounds nothing like either of you.

What should you leave out of your story?

The link is public and forwardable even when it is unlisted, and this is the one section where couples forget that. The test that settles most of it: would you say this sentence out loud to a colleague you like but do not know well?

Exes — by name or by implication. “Unlike some people” is by implication.
The hard year: an illness, a bereavement, a loss. Only if you both actively want it there. One of you wanting it is not enough.
In-jokes four people understand. A guest who does not get the joke feels outside the wedding before they arrive.
Anything a family member could read as a dig — including whose parents took longest to come round, and who paid for what.
Private medical detail, fertility, therapy, immigration status. A wedding website is a public page with your date and venue on it.
The cost of anything, the ring included.
Anything that will need editing later. “We are hoping to buy a house this year” ages badly on a page nobody goes back to.

And leave out the apology. A section that opens by explaining you are not very good at this is the only thing on the page guaranteed to be read in an embarrassed voice.

If what you actually want is your guests’ words on the page rather than more of your own, that is a different section: a digital guest book collects their messages, and it fills up after the invitation goes out rather than before.

Is a wedding website bio the same as an our story?

Yes — the same section under two names. Couples who say story mean first-person prose. Couples who say bio mean two short third-person paragraphs, sometimes with ages and jobs, usually closing on a joint line. Where it goes on the page and what it is for do not change, so nobody needs both.

Choose the bio shape if prose makes you freeze, if the two sides of the room have never met, or if you want the section scannable rather than read. Example eight is a complete one. Keep both bios the same length, write them in the present tense, and keep the jokes affectionate — a line that is funny about your partner at home can read as a complaint to a guest who has met them once.

The heading is yours either way: it is editable text, so Our story can become About us, The two of us, or just your two names. If you are still working out which sections the page needs at all, the wedding website checklist is the faster way round it, and wedding invitation wording covers the other writing job — the invitation itself, which is a completely different register from this.

FAQ

Our story questions couples actually ask

Do you write the our story in the first person or the third person?

First person is the default and it is what most couples publish — “we met in 2019” — because the section is the two of you talking to people you know. Third person is the bio shape: short, factual, present tense, often two of them side by side, and it suits a page where the two halves of the room have never met. Either is correct, but do not mix them inside one section; a paragraph that starts as “we” and ends as “Sam is a teacher” reads as an unfinished edit.

Where should the our story go on a wedding website?

High, but short. On an invitation built here the default running order is your names and date, the countdown, Our story, the photographs, then the venue, the schedule and the RSVP — so the story sits near the top and everything a guest came for follows it. That works while the story is sixty to a hundred and fifty words. Four hundred words in the same slot pushes the arrival time a long way down the page, so either keep it to one scene, break it with subheads, or drag the section below Venue & date and RSVP in the editor. Whichever you choose, end the story with a line pointing guests the right way.

Can you use a template or an AI to write your our story?

As a starting shape, yes — that is what the eight examples on this page are for. What you cannot outsource is the specific detail, and that detail is the only part anybody remembers: the plate of cake, the bar visited eleven times, the one working shower. Take a structure you like, then replace every generic line with something that could only be said about you. A story that could belong to any couple is worse than three honest sentences.

Should you mention a previous marriage in your our story?

Name it once, plainly, early, if children or a blended household are part of the day — then move on to the story. Guests who half-know will stop guessing, and the people who love you take their cue from your tone. Do not disparage the first marriage and do not erase it either. It is also worth one sentence telling guests they are welcome to mention it, because a roomful of people tiptoeing around a subject you are relaxed about is the worst outcome of a well-meant silence.

What is a wedding website bio, and how long should it be?

It is the same section as our story, written as two short third-person paragraphs instead of prose — name, where they are from, what they do, one affectionate joke, then a joint block that puts the two of you together. Forty to sixty words each is plenty, and the two should be the same length, because a guest will notice if one of you got twice the space. Example eight on this page is a complete one.

Do guests actually read the our story, or is it only for us?

Some do, properly, and they are usually the people who know only one of you — a colleague, a cousin from the other side, a friend of your parents. Everybody else glances at it on the way to the RSVP. That is the whole design brief: survive a twenty-second glance, and reward the person who reads every word. It is also why length is the wrong thing to worry about and one specific sentence is the right thing.

Copy one, then make it yours.

Pick the length that suits you, change the names and the details, and paste it straight into the Our story section. The box keeps your paragraphs.

Start your invitation

Eight complete stories

Wedding website our story examples, three lines to 367 words

Updated September 2026Written by the Wedvite founders

Start your invitation

What do you write in a wedding website’s our story?

Which our story example fits yours?

1. Three sentences, when the story is not the point
2. The short version, one anecdote
3. The long version, with subheads
4. When the story is ordinary
5. Together a long time before the wedding
6. A second marriage, with children
7. Told in two voices
8. The bio version, in the third person

1. Three sentences, when the story is not the point

36 words

You want the section to exist, you do not want to write an essay, and the wedding is in eleven weeks.

Nadia and I met at a bus stop in Leeds in 2019.

Six years, three flats and one accidental cat later, we are getting married.

Everything you need for the day is further down this page.

2. The short version, one anecdote

96 words

The default. Two or three paragraphs, one scene told properly, and the wedding at the end.

Five years later, in a parking lot outside a garden center on a cold Tuesday in February, Daniel asked, badly, and Priya said yes before he had finished the sentence.

We are getting married on September 12th at Blackberry Farm, and we are so glad you will be there.

3. The long version, with subheads

367 words

For couples who genuinely want to tell it, and whose guests are split between two families who have barely met.

How we met

The middle part

The proposal

The wedding

You are on a short list of people we want in that room. The schedule, the map and the RSVP are all further down this page. Please do reply either way — we would rather know.

4. When the story is ordinary

141 words

You met on an app, nothing cinematic has happened, and every example you have read makes you feel short-changed.

We met on Hinge in February 2022. There is no better version of that sentence, and we have stopped looking for one.

The first date was a bar in Logan Square that we have since been back to eleven times. The second was the same bar. By the fourth we had both quietly cancelled other plans for the weekend.

So that is the story: an app, a bar, and six hundred quiet evenings. We are getting married on May 3rd, and we would love you to come and be loud in the middle of it.

5. Together a long time before the wedding

151 words

Ten years in, and every guest is quietly wondering the same thing, so answer it once and move on.

We have been together since 2012, which means several of you have known us as a couple for longer than you have known your own children.

So: 20 September, the same two people, a considerably better party. Thank you for waiting, and for never once making it a question.

6. A second marriage, with children

179 words

It is a second wedding for one or both of you, children are part of the day, and you would rather nobody had to guess how to behave.

This is a second marriage for both of us, and we have thought about how to say that here.

We are getting married on 11 April, quietly, in front of fifty people who have held us up.

7. Told in two voices

184 words

Half the room knows one of you and not the other, and you want them to hear both before the day.

From Ruth

From Owen

From both of us

We are getting married on 27 June at Hasfield Court. Everything practical is below: timings, parking, the RSVP, and what to wear if it rains, which it will.

8. The bio version, in the third person

109 words

You would rather not write prose at all — or you want the shape a couple of short bios give, which some sites call an “about us”.

Chloé, 31

Sam, 33

Together

Together since 2020. Engaged in 2025 on a hill above Aviemore. Getting married on 16 August in front of ninety people, most of whom are reading this.

How long should the our story be, and where does the long version go?

What do you write when the story is ordinary?

One thing not to do: invent. A proposal that did not happen the way you describe it is a strange thing to publish to two hundred people, several of whom were in the room.

How do you write it for a second marriage, or a long gap?

Two different situations that arrive with the same worry: guests are going to do arithmetic, and you would rather they did not get it wrong.

Should one of you write it, or both?

What should you leave out of your story?

Exes — by name or by implication. “Unlike some people” is by implication.
The hard year: an illness, a bereavement, a loss. Only if you both actively want it there. One of you wanting it is not enough.
In-jokes four people understand. A guest who does not get the joke feels outside the wedding before they arrive.
Anything a family member could read as a dig — including whose parents took longest to come round, and who paid for what.
Private medical detail, fertility, therapy, immigration status. A wedding website is a public page with your date and venue on it.
The cost of anything, the ring included.
Anything that will need editing later. “We are hoping to buy a house this year” ages badly on a page nobody goes back to.

And leave out the apology. A section that opens by explaining you are not very good at this is the only thing on the page guaranteed to be read in an embarrassed voice.

Is a wedding website bio the same as an our story?

FAQ

Our story questions couples actually ask

Do you write the our story in the first person or the third person?

Where should the our story go on a wedding website?

Can you use a template or an AI to write your our story?

Should you mention a previous marriage in your our story?

What is a wedding website bio, and how long should it be?

Do guests actually read the our story, or is it only for us?

Copy one, then make it yours.

Pick the length that suits you, change the names and the details, and paste it straight into the Our story section. The box keeps your paragraphs.

Start your invitation