Here’s our story—plainspoken, unembellished, and as honest as I can make it:
I wasn’t planning on meeting anyone special that late January Saturday. I’d hopped on a flight to the Netherlands to see an old friend of mine, the kind of friend you lose touch with, then pick up right where you left off. She was working at a local pizzeria, so we figured we should go there with a bunch of her friends, just to hang out.
She pulled together a small crew—a few pals from around town—and went on to the pizzeria. That’s how I met her: my future girlfriend was one of those friends. We went to the pizzeria, there I kept glancing at her coffee-coloured eyes, like a light in a dark room that keeps on attracting your attention. We spoke and spoke, her without voice, me being lousy as usual. After all that we decided to keep on having some fun, so we went to her place for some games, that's the first time I saw my girlfriend's house, without even knowing that would be the first.
Later that night, we headed out to a club. Nothing special on the surface—music, dancing, overpriced drinks—but there was a moment that stuck with me. She stepped away to get her drink and I found myself waiting, watching the people around me, but really just waiting to see her come back. It was silly, maybe, but also the first time I realized I cared what she was doing out there.
By the end of the night my friend got a little too drunk and, well, high. We decided to call an Uber to take her home. When the car pulled up at my friend's house to drop her off before continuing, I guess I got jealous of the driver—him getting to sit next to her, close enough to keep talking when we were all waiting for my friend to get inside the house. So I her to come out too. The driver didn’t mind, and soon thereafter he left too; That’s how I ended up staying at her place that night. I didn’t have anywhere else to crash and she was willing to take me in for one night.
The next morning we talked. We talked about all sorts of things—work, life back home, what brought us to January in each other’s orbit. I’ll keep the details vague because none of it was cinematic or earth‐shaking; it was just conversation. But by the time I left to catch my flight back to Italy, we’d exchanged instagram handles. I thought it might be the end of it. Turns out, it was only the beginning.
Back home, we messaged. Not constantly—no daily “good morning” clichés—but enough to know we were each still there. She was hesitant at first, guarded in her replies, but underneath it all I could tell she already cared. I, for my part, felt my own feelings deepen over those messages.
A few weeks went by, then one evening we decided it was worth trying to see each other again. I booked another ticket to the Netherlands. On day one, we had already gone clubbing again, only for her to end the night all wasted drunk, needing to be carried home by me, we only made it to a certain point before we decided to get an Uber—felt protective, felt natural. That night set the tone for the rest of the visit.
Somewhat drunkedly, but very much seriously, we decided it wasn’t just a fling. We became “us.” We started talking seriously about the future—moving in together, how to arrange work and study, which city might make sense. We agreed that I’d eventually join her at her place, even though it means finding my own spot there too. She’s studying, I’ll be working. It’s a plan that lines up, piece by piece.
The very same week we joined a camping trip with a group of people neither of us had known before. Spending those hours together—sharing meals and doing all sorts of activities together—broke through any remaining awkwardness. It was simple, maybe even silly, but camping with strangers made us a team in a way nothing else had. The amount of things we did in that weekend were too memorable to forget, so much so I still think about them to this day.
But these months apart haven’t been easy. The distance is real—different routines, the little misunderstandings that turn into bigger ones when you’re not face-to-face. We don’t always “fit” perfectly yet, but we talk it through, we hope it out, and we believe it can be solved. I know I’m not perfect—far from it—but I see a way forward.
When I look ahead, I see us sharing an apartment, grocery shopping on the same day, binge-watching shows in the living room. It feels possible, even if the path isn’t paved yet. I’m not much of a poet, but I know this much: come what may, I want you in my life—and I see light ahead for the two of us.
I love you dearly Jelly, and I know I am not always perfect, but I really do strive to improve, and I wish I can do that with you
With a lot of love, happy birthday my love
— Vik