(Samein's Version) It all began one day in high school when I was scrolling through my Facebook feed and stumbled upon a video of a teenage boy playing drums in a church band. He had big, curly hair held back by a colorful bandana. "Cool hair," I thought. "Great drumming, too. He seems cool. I wonder if he’s from Phoenix?" Nope. The church was in Palo Cedro. Isn’t that near San Francisco? Seems far. Maybe he goes to an academy or something. "Ghelfi?" That’s such a unique name. Despite my shy nature, I wanted to reach out in some way. I decided to make a move and slid into his DMs. I wasn’t entirely sure what I hoped to achieve, but as an artist, I felt compelled to speak like one. I had one shot. One opportunity. My message was poetic, intricately woven—maybe even a bit Shakespearean. Here goes nothing: "Hello. I like your music. You're a good drummer. I like music too. I feel like we would be good friends." SENT. **Crickets** I tossed my computer aside and dramatically dove into a pile of leaves. A few hours went by with no response. Days passed, but still nothing. “Well, that went smoothly,” I thought. I never was very good at flirting. Fast forward about 10 years later. I’m now a nurse working in Loma Linda, CA, unwinding in a hot tub with friends after work. We’re reminiscing about old jobs and trying to remember former co-workers’ names. Suddenly, the name “Eric Ghelfi” pops into my head. Why does that sound familiar? I pull up the name on Instagram and start laughing, gathering my friends around my phone. "Hey, this is the guy who left me unread! Wow, he looks so different now! Seems like he ran cross-country in college. Wish I’d done that. His photos are awesome—he seems really adventurous! Still has curly hair, but no bandana. What a great smile. "You should add him," said one housemate. People add random strangers on Instagram all the time now. What’s the worst that could happen?" Friend request sent. A few hours later... "Friend request accepted." "Eric Ghelfi would like to follow you on Instagram." I instantly regret my actions and watch as my housemates burst into laughter. Now I’m scrambling to find excuses to delete social media again while trying to reject the request because I'm feeling like a straight-up creep. One of my housemates snatches my phone away. "No, Samein, you have to add him! You can be online buddies, she clicks accept." I, yet again, dive into a pile of leaves. According to his most recent IG story, he was in Palm Springs that day, very close to Loma Linda. "You should invite him to our party this weekend." (Eric's Version) For the record, I have no recollection of the aforementioned Facebook message. Facebook may have filtered it out. After all, what teenage boy wouldn't remember being hit on by a hot Phoenician? I do, however, remember when Samein followed me on Instagram, not making much of it. Back then, seemingly random runners would follow one another, and when someone who seemed real followed me, I often followed back. It didn't hurt that she was, again, a hot Phoenician. That weekend, waiting to join the wedding party at longtime friend Kevin Penington's wedding, I posted photos of a run in Palm Springs. About an hour later, Samein posted an open invitation to people in SoCal to join at her house's Friendsgiving in Loma Linda. "Loma Linda," I thought. "Do I know this girl from a different era?" This time, it was my turn to slide into the DMs. Unlike my dumb teenage self, Samein responded. We began an exchange that led to our meeting in Phoenix for the first of many outings. She must have detected good vibes because she didn't hesitate to get into my grandparents' old minivan on our first date. There was no need to dive into a pile of leaves this time.