In 2020 at a major tech company, I met someone who changed everything in the span of about six weeks.

We were both remote recruiters on the same team. The chemistry was instant and relentless. We would have two conversations running simultaneously, one over Slack for work and another over text for everything else. Hours would disappear into these layered discussions about recruiting, life, random observations, whatever. It was limitless.

I remember scrolling through her Instagram photos for the first time when I discovered she was a lesbian. I guess the math didn’t work out for me, after all. Or so I thought.

After several more weeks of constant texting, she asked me something unusual.

“Would you ever date me?”

“Yes.”

I didn’t even think about my reply. It was simply true, and I just said it. I felt no fear or vulnerability, no risk of rejection. She was unavailable to me; therefore, this must be some kind of hypothetical, intellectual exercise.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

That’s approximately how it started.

We immediately went into planning & logistics. Eventually I would relocate to Austin. For now, I would come to visit in four weeks. If we could keep the intensity for that long, we’d have a strong foundation.

We maintained it with plenty to spare. The month flew by with the same dual-conversation energy. I booked the flight.

Austin exceeded every expectation. The chemistry translated perfectly to in-person interaction. We talked the same way face-to-face as we had through screens. The physical connection worked. We had sex and it was excellent. Everything about the weekend was clicking exactly as we’d hoped.

Then I did something incredibly dumb.

Before heading out the second day, I took a small hit from my weed vape. She took one too, in solidarity. It seemed harmless. I’ve done this thousands of times in my life. Here we had a tiny, shared moment before exploring the city.

Except, we both got ridiculously high.

I became weird and uncoordinated. She got paranoid and uncomfortable. What should have been a fun day out turned into an awkward nightmare where we were both trapped inside altered versions of ourselves.

When we got back to the hotel room, she quietly collected her things and left. I bought a ticket home that night.

It was over like that.

The smallest possible miscalculation at the worst possible moment. Everything that mattered had worked perfectly; the emotional connection, the physical compatibility, the practical logistics.

Six weeks of building something rare, a perfect weekend confirming it was real, then thirty minutes of being the wrong versions of ourselves when first impressions were everything.

Thirty minutes that undid everything we’d built and everything we could have been.