We met on Bumble towards the end of 2023.

For a couple of weeks, maybe two or three, we talked. Different days, different conversations, slowly getting to know one another through a screen.

And then you did something that, looking back, feels very you. You basically told me you weren't interested in becoming pen pals. I don't remember your exact words anymore. Something about action. Something about actually doing something rather than endlessly talking about it.

So we did.

At the beginning of December, we planned our first date in London. I remember seeing you and thinking immediately that you were gorgeous. Somehow, you looked even better in person than you did in your pictures.

And because apparently I was already doing the most, I had brought you a gift: a Jimmy Choo perfume.

We went to Frameless first. Then Kai in Mayfair for dinner. The food was good, but what I remember more was talking. And laughing. And talking some more.

Dinner wasn't enough, so we continued the night somewhere underground for drinks. It was busy, but we found our little corner and carried on doing exactly what we'd been doing all evening: talking and laughing.

My first impression of you went beyond how beautiful I thought you were. There was a seriousness about you that I liked. You cared about becoming better, about personal development, about where you were going and the person you wanted to become. But you weren't serious all the time. There was a lightness there too.

I liked you. Probably more than my actions showed at the time.

And somewhere between Bumble, Frameless, dinner and that little corner underground, something had started. Neither of us could have known what it would become.

If I had to give 2024 a word, it would be discovery.

It was the year of discovering you. And, in many ways, discovering myself with you.

During those first few months, you occupied my mind far more than you probably knew. I thought about you constantly. I knew I was interested in you from the beginning, but somewhere around March or April it began to feel different. This wasn't just attraction anymore. There was something here.

Then came Cannes. Our first trip together. It was supposed to be longer, but flights had other ideas, so we ended up with something like 48 hours. And somehow, 48 hours was enough.

We arrived on Friday night, walked around looking for somewhere to eat, found pizza, found a bar and talked. The next day, we walked. A lot. We explored Cannes, saw the sights, took pictures and eventually found ourselves down by the water, sitting on rocks and talking.

There was no elaborate plan in that moment. Just you, me, the sea and another conversation. Then ice cream. Back to the hotel. Getting ready. Dinner at La Petite Maison. The meal was good. The company was even better. And somehow we ended the night getting drunk together at the hotel bar.

Cannes was technically our first trip. But what I remember now isn't really the destination. It was the first time we had stepped outside the structure of dates and spent concentrated time simply existing beside one another. And I liked what I saw.

That summer, we became more comfortable. We went out. We did things. We spent time together. We laughed. We learned one another. And somewhere in all of that, I fell in love with you.

Bali was chaos in the best possible way. We did so much. The night before your birthday, we went for dinner and then went out. We had far too much fun, came back late, and somehow still had to pack because we were leaving the next morning. I was basically still asleep. We were delayed. Everything was happening.

And somehow those slightly chaotic memories have become some of my favourites. Because that was us too. Not perfectly curated photographs. Us being tired. Us rushing. Us laughing.

Perhaps the most important trip of 2024 wasn't Cannes or Bali. It was Exeter.

By then, something had changed in me. I trusted you. Not simply in the sense of trusting that you would be faithful or reliable. I trusted you with more of me.

I began to feel that I didn't need to hold so much back. That I could tell you things. That I could let you see more. That I could be vulnerable and still be safe.

I left Exeter feeling lighter. And as 2024 became 2025, I understood something I hadn't known when I first saw you at Frameless.

You weren't simply somebody I loved spending time with. You were somebody I could have beside me. Somebody I could trust. Somebody I could build with.

If 2024 was discovery, 2025 was depth.

I stopped feeling like I needed to restrict myself around you. I could speak. I could be open. I could be myself — fully.

And as I let you further into my world, you began understanding more than the version of me you'd initially met. My background. My ambitions. The things that drive me. The things that worry me. The things beneath everything else.

At the same time, I was learning you. The serious Shamica. The ambitious Shamica. The focused Shamica. The ridiculous Shamica. The one who randomly sings. The one who makes up words. The one with that finger thing that somehow still makes me laugh.

And slowly, knowing you became something more instinctive. I could begin to understand what you might need without always having to ask.

Life together started becoming beautifully ordinary. You'd come over. We'd eat. We'd watch reality television. We'd make cocktails. Sometimes you'd stay while I had teaching or work. Other times I'd come back from Manchester and we'd meet around Euston and find somewhere to eat.

There were dates, of course. But there was also simply life.

One of my favourite memories came when you were interviewing for a new project. We spent a few days at a hotel while you prepared and interviewed, and when you got it, I was proud of you.

We left the hotel on Saturday. And then, on Sunday, I wanted to see you again. So we went for a celebratory dinner. There have probably been bigger gestures between us, but that dinner remains one of the most romantic moments of 2025 for me. It was calm. Serene. Peaceful. I was sitting across from the woman I loved, celebrating something she had worked for. And I was proud of her.

One of my best friends was getting married, and you were there beside me. I remember dancing with you at the wedding. I remember us arriving completely exhausted and sleeping. I remember sitting together at a restaurant, looking at the food and collectively realising: Yeah... this is not what we envisioned.

After Peru came one of our first genuinely difficult periods. I don't think every part of a relationship belongs in an archive. Some things should remain between us. But I do think what came from it belongs here.

It taught me to look beyond my own perspective. To think about how I show up for you. To understand that loving someone isn't only about knowing what you intended. It's also about understanding what they experienced. And we worked through it. We became closer.

Japan had originally been the plan for your birthday, but life had other ideas. So I looked for somewhere else. Singapore.

What started as a birthday trip became something else entirely. We stayed. And then stayed longer. And then extended again. Eventually, we weren't really behaving like tourists anymore. We were working. Eating. Exploring. Sleeping. Finding routines around the time difference. Living together in another country for a little while.

There were incredible meals and activities and birthday memories. But one of the moments I remember most happened in a taxi.

We'd had a small disagreement. We had talked about it, and things were getting better, but I was still slightly in my feelings. Then, sitting beside you, I reached for your hand. You held mine. And somehow whatever had felt so important before became smaller.

Nothing dramatic happened. There was no grand speech. Just your hand in mine. And I remember thinking: Okay. This is my person.

Not because we would never disagree. But because I was beginning to understand that we could disagree and still find our way back to one another.

You taught me that year what being supported could feel like too. When things weren't going according to plan, sometimes you encouraged me. Sometimes you helped me look for solutions. Sometimes you simply listened. You became my sounding board.

By the end of 2025, I understood something else about you. You're strong. You're serious. You're ambitious. But beneath all of that is an enormous capacity to care. You feel deeply. You want to show up for people. And I had been fortunate enough to become one of those people.

2026 has been our year of growth.

Not the kind of growth that means everything suddenly becomes easy. The kind that comes from knowing each other well enough to become more intentional.

Our communication has grown. Our commitment has grown. Our understanding has grown. Even our ability to disagree has grown. And individually, we've been growing too: work, businesses, goals, responsibilities, the lives we're each trying to create.

It feels as though we're growing individually while simultaneously growing further into one another.

And I've watched you grow. The woman beside me today is still the woman I met in 2023. Still grounded. Still ambitious. Still caring. But you're more mature now. More patient. More focused. More loving. More certain about where you're going.

And somewhere along the way, you've changed me too. You've forced me to communicate. To open up. To hold myself accountable. To think about the standard I set for myself and the way I behave inside a partnership. You've even helped me understand how I want to be loved.

I remember going out that morning to get your flowers and collect the things I'd ordered for you. And then there is another memory that probably captures us better.

It was freezing. You were wearing a dress. After dinner, we went towards the Eiffel Tower to take photographs. And while you were progressively becoming an icicle, I apparently decided this was the ideal moment to tell you about a Haitian family I'd seen.

I was talking. You could not have cared less. You were cold. You wanted to leave. Immediately. Romance.

Morocco became something we probably needed. Rest. Food. Time.

I remember working on my laptop one afternoon and looking over at you asleep on the bed. You weren't doing anything. There wasn't some extraordinary backdrop. You were just sleeping. And I remember looking at you and thinking: This is beautiful.

Thailand was different again. For perhaps the first time, I felt like I had properly celebrated my birthday. Just you and me. And that mattered to me more than I probably said.

One of my favourite moments of 2026 happened much closer to home. You stayed over. We woke up late the next day. It almost felt like a Sunday.

I'd had things on my mind about us, so I told you. And we talked. Then that conversation became another conversation. And another. And we just kept talking. Properly talking. For hours.

It reminded me of Exeter. That same feeling of lightness. Except we weren't the same two people who had been in Exeter. We had three years behind us now. More love. More history. More mistakes. More understanding. More reasons to choose one another deliberately.

And I felt something beginning to come into fruition.

Growth.