Beyond the Layovers: Our Story Unfolds

It all started when we first met—30th of January.
I walked into her house and saw a girl completely in her element. No effort. No trying. Someone who clearly didn’t care about how she looked—and yet, somehow, looked effortlessly stunning. Her hair was in that in-between state, a little wet, a little dry, and she marched past me toward her room like the world could wait.

As we hopelessly struggled to book an Uber Parcel, neither of us had the slightest clue that this was the beginning of something neither of us saw coming.

I still remember the moment she applied shampoo to her already perfect hair, fully convinced it was hair serum. The sudden realization—shit, I’m fucked—followed by her washing her hair all over again in the cold, with freezing water. When she walked out of the washroom with dripping wet hair, I acted normal.

But nothing about that night was normal.

She came, sat by the heater, and disappeared into her own world again.
A start we never saw coming.
A start we never knew we needed.

We joked about how this was definitely going to be the last time I’d ever be at her place. I laughed—but I was a little hurt, not gonna lie.

I’ll never forget walking out at 5 in the morning, the cold biting through my hands as they shivered uncontrollably. She, being the kind soul she is, offered me her pockets to warm them. Trying to act cool (and failing beautifully), I told her to stop finding excuses to make me touch her. She made the most annoyed face then.

Funny thing is—this guy had no idea he’d someday want his hands in her pockets every time he felt cold.

The night passed.

She definitely loves eating—but somehow never orders or makes food in the right quantity. Some things never change.

Then it was time to say goodbye. We didn’t know if there would be a next time. I was a little hopeful. She flew home, and I jumped straight into bed, replaying the night over and over in my head.

A few days passed. She was back in the city. With a tiny bit of hope, I asked her if she wanted to meet—but life had different plans. She flew back to where she was needed. Then came a text that quietly filled me with hope:

“I’ll be coming on the 10th.”

That’s when it all started.
A beginning for me.
A beginning for us.

We began speaking every day—video calls that stretched through the night. Sleep-deprived, but always smiling. She started calling me hopeless, a gone case—and somehow, that always made me smile. It became routine. Calls from dusk till dawn. Abu Dhabi to layovers. Bit by bit, I started falling for her.

Still afraid, though.
Afraid of the distance.
Afraid of the future.
Afraid of things that had never scared me before.

A tale slowly took shape—filled with fun, banter, and laughter. She talks a lot. Doesn’t listen. Not complaining. Maybe for the first time, someone spoke more than me in a relationship—something I never knew I needed.

I let this page tell our story for years to come.
Maybe this is my way of expressing what she means to me.
Something she can read again and again.
To live—and relive—this journey through all its twists and turns, highs and lows, bumps and bruises…

But no stops.