We were from different countries, different time zones, different lives. But somehow, the internet made our worlds collide. I was 19, still figuring myself out; she was turning 21 and already seemed to know who she was. We weren’t looking for anything serious—just conversation—but from the first message, something clicked. She was sharp, a little chaotic, effortlessly interesting. We talked constantly—music, books, dreams, fears. It felt real, maybe too real.

Three months in, she left. Said we were too compatible, that it scared her. Said she didn’t want to fall for someone she couldn’t see, touch, hold. Just like that, she disappeared.

A week later, I messaged her—unsure if she'd even reply. She did. Same day, almost the same time. We picked up right where we left off. Then a month later, I vanished. No warning, just fear and confusion. She got mad, and she had every right to. But somehow, we kept finding our way back.

Eventually, I asked her for something real—a relationship. She said yes. It lasted a week. I wasn’t ready. I told her. She didn’t argue. She just left.

Nearly a month passed before I reached out again. This time, I didn’t ask for anything. I just wanted her to stay, in whatever form she could. And she did. We stopped labeling it. We just were. Sharing music, reading the same books, watching the same movies across screens, talking until one of us fell asleep. We existed in that space for almost two years.

Then, it ended. Quietly. Life drifted us apart. No goodbyes, no arguments—just silence. And that silence lasted four years.

Until that winter.

A new country, a new chapter. I was walking past a small café when I saw her—standing outside in the snow. We locked eyes. We had never met in person, but I knew. And by the way she looked at me… she did too.

It felt like something unfinished finally finding its way back. Like home, after years of being lost.