Zinnia Mahone & Tavio Mwenye

Zinnia

The first thing Tavio and I disagreed about was a song. This is not a story about discovering we secretly liked all the same things. We did not. We still do not. If we travel together, the person driving chooses the music for half the journey, and the other person is allowed one appeal per hour.

His WaBanja profile mentioned old records. Mine mentioned singing badly while I cleaned. He asked which song was most likely to make my neighbours complain. I named one. He said it was a good choice if the aim was to finish cleaning as quickly as possible. I thought he was being rude for approximately three seconds. Then he admitted he knew every word.

Tavio

Zinnia told me fairly early that she was not interested in spending months messaging without ever meeting. I appreciated that. I was interested in her, but I could also hide comfortably inside a conversation where I had time to edit every answer. We agreed to meet for lunch somewhere busy, somewhere neither of us would have to travel far.

Then I cancelled. A problem at work ran into the afternoon, and I knew I would not arrive when I had said I would. I sent a rushed message explaining that I could not make it. Zinnia answered, “Thanks for letting me know.” It was a perfectly reasonable response. I read about six additional meanings into it and spent the evening wondering whether I had ruined everything.

The embarrassing part is that I nearly left it there. I told myself she would suggest another day if she still wanted to see me. What I was really doing was asking her to prove her interest after I had disappointed her. It took a friend saying, “You cancelled, not her,” for me to recognise how unfair that was.

Zinnia

I had been disappointed. I had chosen what to wear and arranged my day around going out. But disappointment did not mean I had decided Tavio was a terrible person. I wanted him to make another plan, not because I was testing him but because the next step was his to offer.

He wrote the following morning. He apologised without a long defence, suggested two possible days and said he understood if I had changed my mind. I had not. I chose the earlier day, partly because I wanted to meet him and partly because I was tired of explaining the situation to my sister, who had developed several opinions despite knowing almost nothing.

At lunch, he knocked his menu against his glass and announced that this was going well. I laughed before I could politely decide whether I should. He looked relieved. We talked for long enough that the café staff began setting tables around us for the next part of the day. There was no special moment when I knew. There were several ordinary moments when I wanted the conversation to continue.

Tavio

I learned that Zinnia asks direct questions and does not always expect a direct answer immediately. When she asked what I wanted from dating, I said I was still learning how to describe it. She said that was an answer, provided I did not use it forever. I liked her more for that. She was not asking me to promise a future on the first afternoon. She was asking whether I was willing to think seriously about one.

A few weeks later, the dance was her idea. It was a small community fundraiser in a hall, with a borrowed sound system and food sold from a table near the door. She asked whether I wanted to go and warned me that she would probably dance. I said I would probably need instruction. Neither statement was an exaggeration.

Zinnia

He wore the navy suit. I wore burgundy. We did not coordinate deliberately, though people assumed we had. Before we went inside, somebody took a photograph of us on the path. Tavio had his arm around my shoulders, and I remember telling him not to stand so stiffly. He said the suit had its own ideas about posture.

Inside, when we eventually danced, Tavio counted under his breath for the first half-minute. I heard him and started laughing. He asked whether I was laughing at him. I said yes, a little, but not unkindly. He thought about that, then laughed too. I appreciated that he did not turn embarrassment into irritation. It made room for both of us to be a little foolish.

Tavio

The last song was one we both liked, which felt like an unusual piece of good planning by the person in charge of the music. Most of the room had begun collecting coats. Zinnia asked if I wanted to leave. I said we could stay until it finished.

I do not think that evening made us a couple. By then, we had already begun choosing each other in less attractive circumstances: after cancelled plans, during difficult conversations, on days when neither of us had a charming answer ready. The dance gave us a photograph and a story to tell. The rescheduled lunch had given us a chance to find out whether we could handle being disappointed without immediately giving up.

We still disagree about music. We also tell each other when something matters instead of expecting the other person to guess. That is a less impressive answer than saying we knew from the first message. It is the answer that feels like ours.