Inaya Solenne & Cassian Mensah

When Inaya told Cassian she was applying for work in another city, he congratulated her before asking what it might mean for them. She would remember that order. At the time, they were still early enough in the relationship to be careful about calling each other a partner. He could have treated the application as a vote against their future. Instead, he asked what she liked about the role. She spoke for nearly ten minutes before noticing that she had not been defending herself. He was simply interested.

They had met through WaBanja while both lived in Toronto. Cassian's profile said that he liked people who could enjoy an afternoon without photographing every part of it. Inaya's response pointed out that he had uploaded several photographs of an afternoon. He replied that he accepted this excellent criticism and would like time to assemble a defence. Neither had intended to spend the evening discussing photographs, privacy and the strange things people choose to include in introductions. When they finally said goodnight, the conversation felt interrupted rather than exhausted.

Their first meeting was a short lunch in a public café. Cassian arrived with a book that he later admitted was mainly something to do with his hands while waiting. Inaya arrived with a list of practical things she wanted to finish afterwards. Both were relieved when the hour passed without requiring a life story. They spoke about food, their weeks and why neither enjoyed answering a question while someone was visibly preparing the next one. At the door he asked whether she would like to meet again. She said yes without first consulting the list in her bag.

The job offer came four months later. Inaya wanted the work, but moving made her uneasy for reasons that had little to do with romance. She had finally developed a routine in the city: familiar shops, neighbours who recognised her, friends she could visit without arranging an entire weekend. Cassian was becoming part of that life. She worried that explaining how much she wanted the job would make him feel less important. He worried that explaining how much he would miss her might sound like an attempt to keep her there.

They managed to say both things. Then they took a notebook and worked through what a relationship between two cities might actually involve. They did not promise to travel every weekend. They considered money, shifts, family visits and the possibility that a trip would be cancelled. The first version of their plan was too ambitious. The second was slightly disappointing and much more likely to happen. Inaya said she preferred a realistic agreement to a beautiful one they would resent within a month. Cassian was quietly relieved that she had said it first.

The distance was not dramatic every day. It was often administrative. A train time changed. One person's long weekend was the other's busiest work period. A message arrived while the recipient was trying to leave a meeting, buy food and remember why they had entered a particular shop. Inaya missed being able to tell a story once, badly, with Cassian nearby to ask what she meant. Cassian missed the little news that did not seem worth saving for a proper conversation. They learned to share it anyway, without making every exchange a report on the health of the relationship.

They also learned that a visit could not carry the weight of two ordinary weeks. During the first few months, they tried to make every meeting special. There were reservations, outings, gifts and the pressure to be grateful while tired. On one visit they argued over breakfast because neither wanted to admit that they would rather stay in. Eventually Inaya said she had travelled to see Cassian, not to complete an itinerary with him. He put the tickets for that afternoon back in the drawer. They went shopping for dinner and discovered how much they had missed doing something dull together.

Meeting their families introduced another sort of distance: the gap between what people meant and what other people heard. A relative asked when they would stop all this travelling. It was intended as encouragement. Inaya heard a demand for a decision they had not yet made. Cassian wanted to reassure everyone and nearly offered a date that existed only in his head. Later, they discussed it without an audience. They agreed that affection did not entitle either family to a timetable and that they would not borrow certainty to make a room more comfortable.

The proposal happened after that agreement, not instead of it. Cassian had initially imagined an elaborate evening. Then Inaya told him about a friend's surprise event and mentioned, quite casually, how much she disliked being expected to produce the right public reaction. He changed his plan. During a visit, after dinner had been cleared away, he asked whether they could talk about marriage. She asked whether this was a hypothetical conversation. He said it was not. There was a ring, but there were also questions about where to live, what they could afford and what neither was ready to give up.

Inaya said yes. She also kept the job. They spent the following months considering options instead of treating the engagement as a magic solution to geography. Cassian explored work changes that might allow a move, while Inaya asked what flexibility her own role could reasonably offer. Neither promised an outcome on behalf of an employer. Sometimes they were excited. Sometimes they were tired of having sensible conversations. They continued having them because pretending the problem was solved would have left one of them to solve it alone.

The photograph was taken at a family gathering some time afterwards. Cassian wore the navy suit he had already owned; Inaya chose a pale dress and rested her hand against his jacket while they waited for everyone else to find a place. Someone caught them looking at one another instead of at the camera. The image suggests a settled moment, and it was. It does not show the train times, rearranged visits or the spreadsheet with a tab neither enjoyed opening. Those were part of the same affection, simply less suited to a portrait.

They still do not describe their story as proof that distance is easy. It has asked for money, patience and choices that a photograph cannot explain. Nor do they believe difficulty makes a relationship more valuable. They would gladly accept an easier journey. What they trust is the habit they began before Inaya moved: asking what the other person wants before deciding what that desire must mean. Their future now has fewer unanswered questions, though it still contains train times. When one of them buys a ticket, they send the details with a message that is both practical and warmly anticipated: “This is when I will see you.”