In April 2023, my boss pulled me aside for a quick chat and floated the idea of moving to America to join the New York office. I was stunned. I couldn’t believe it. A wee laddie potentially moving to the not-so-wee Apple. A few months later, I flew across the pond for my relocation trip and, fresh off the plane, as all single gents would do, I downloaded the popular dating app Hinge and began swiping. After a long, jet-lag-induced sleep, I woke up to dozens of women liking my profile. God bless America. As I swiped through them, one profile stopped me in my tracks. A very bonnie lass, sitting on a swing, holding who I hoped was her niece (confirmed, she is soon to be mine also). I spent a full 20 minutes studying her profile, trying to craft the best first message she had ever received. Then inspiration struck, and I wrote, “Hi.” She never replied. A few months later, as my visa paperwork was wrapping up, I decided to give Hinge one last go and moved my location back to NYC. Scrolling, bored, in my childhood bed, I was confronted by the same woman who never responded, and I decided to take one final shot. I woke up the next morning in a daze, grabbed my phone for some blue-light therapy, and was immediately confused as to why a Middle Eastern man named “Ali Kashur” had messaged me. I was certain my settings were set to women. Clicking the notification, I couldn’t quite believe it. It was the bonnie lass. She had replied. We texted. We flirted. We exchanged numbers. Ali Hinge and Gavin Hinge were born. A few days later, AH mentioned she was heading to a bar in Brooklyn with her friends. With the time difference, I began my elaborate skincare routine, winding down for the night. An hour later, my phone rang with a video call. I answered in my pyjamas, doing my best to deliver a convincing pout to a phone screen 3,500 miles away. That’s when AH, the bonnie lass, spoke her first words to me. “How tall are you actually?” To speed up the story a little, the following week I travelled to London, where I was met by an immigration officer radiating final-boss energy, who declined my visa on a technicality. I was gutted. It felt like fumbling the ball in the end zone, and surprisingly that heartbreak was mainly driven by the fact that I’d have to tell my pen pal, AH, that I wouldn’t be coming for a few more months. She surprised me by staying positive, something I adore about her to this day, and suggested we pick things up where we left off if we were both single when I finally arrived in the New Year. The radio silence lasted exactly 24 hours. Then we were right back to texting all day, every day, even when I lived on a glacier in Austria during the interim. I landed in New York City on January 5th, 2024, and after a quick powder of my nose, navigated the subway to the West Village, where I sat nervously waiting for her to arrive… Ali walked down the stairs. We locked eyes through the window. And the rest is history.