Two months ago, we met at a corporate event. The way she carried herself caught my attention, so I made it a point to get to know her better. I approached her right after the event, and she gave me a wide smile: “Hey, my name is Genevieve. Good to meet you. Is there anything you want to talk about?”

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I responded, “Nothing really, but I looked at you very carefully, and I believe we should get to know each other and see what may come of it.” She went professional, so I tried my best to follow the same tone.

She said, “Oh, that’s fine with me. So how do we go about it?”

I asked her to give me her number, but she responded, “I don’t want to sound dismissive, but you can have my email address for now. Let’s see. I respond to emails quicker than WhatsApp messages.”

I was disappointed, but I took the address and sent her an email on my way home so she could also have mine. True to her word, she responded a few minutes later, and that was when the conversation started between us. She was lively, welcoming, and sounded eager to hear from me. I told myself, “Oh, it’s going well. I should have her very soon.”

One week after going back and forth with emails, I asked her for her number. She said, “Oh, I’m not responding quickly enough? Tell me, and I’ll do better.” “It’s not about that,” I said, “but I believe a number is easier than this. I want to hear your voice sometimes too.”

In the evening, I received a Zoom link from her. She said, “You can hear my voice and even see my face. How about that?”

On the Zoom call, we laughed as if someone had sprayed laughing gas on us. I asked, “Why this? Just tell me the truth—you don’t want to give me your number?” She responded while laughing, “Isn’t this good enough? You see me; I see you. I think I love this. We should do it often.”

So every night before bed, we scheduled Zoom meetings. When I’m late, she gives me a long interrogation. She’s never late, so I don’t get to interrogate her either. We’ve been doing this for two months. I know everything there is to know about her—except her number.

The last time, when she told me, “Ask your mother how she survived with your dad without a telephone number,” I got the message.

I told her, “I get it, and I’m happy to be here with you, doing it your way. But we haven’t done Zoom registration—only SIM card registration. So what if one day you disappear?”

She burst out laughing. That’s one thing I like about her: she doesn’t take life too seriously and doesn’t like following rules. We’ve had three online dates where she told me which drinks to buy so we could have the same thing, as if we were together. She’d go out and later send an email saying, “I was out last night, and it was a blast. Attached are the photos from the night.”

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I proposed. She giggled it off. I proposed again, and she said, “I like you too, but I don’t want to spoil all this fun we’re having.”

For two months, we’ve been living online—having drinks, blowing kisses, telling each other what we love about one another, and making digital memories. I want more than this, but I appreciate the lessons she’s teaching me. She’s showing me a thing or two about patience. I get it. I have all the patience until the time comes when we can finally be physical. Because what do we have left apart from that?

—Cederick 

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