We had the perfect first date – one text changed everything

I was in one the first meeting and well into my third pint when I saw the text: ‘I imagine you’re at the airport now, safe travels!’.

I rolled my eyes.

This was typical of my friend Abby*: She always waited for everyone to arrive at the airport at least three hours before the flight took off. I knew I had plenty of time.

But then I looked again at the numbers displayed on my cracked phone screen: 18:03.

Oh dear.

My plane was leaving in just under an hour, meaning I had about 55 minutes to drop off my leftovers. Guinnesstravel to Stansted from the centre Londongo through security and board my plane. If I couldn’t suddenly teleport, I wouldn’t make it.

This first date was supposed to be just a quick drink, and now I’m done i miss flying.

Then again – I really should have seen this coming.

I had talked to Sam* at Tinder for several weeks, staying up late at night in my flat in Edinburgh to discuss my recent graduate thesis and my favorite films.

They were a dizzying combination of interested and interesting: curious about my passions, but also to share many of theirs.

The conversation was easy and, before long, we moved on to text.

But when they asked me out, they suggested a drink at the Admiral Duncan for ‘whimsical the reasons for the story. I raised my eyebrows; The Admiral Duncan is, famously, a gay pub in London. “Maybe there’s a post office in Edinburgh I don’t know about,” I asked.

Looking back on our Tinder conversations, we’d never mentioned living in different cities – me in the Scottish capital, them in the English one – but when I clicked on their profile once more, my suspicions were confirmed: ‘Distance: 534km’.

I didn’t know why the app had gotten my coordinates wrong, but whatever the reason behind this geographical accident, I was devastated: I hadn’t clicked (digitally) with someone like that in a long time.

Of course, our conversations died down when we realized that there were hundreds of kilometers between us: any future, even a casual one, seemed impossible.

That was, until I got word that I had an in-person interview for a permanent role in a London office.

It seemed a perfect opportunity to finally settle something in person with Sam: after all, if my interview was successful, I would be living in London full-time.

Booking a quick return flight was a fraction of the cost of the train; and so I found myself on a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it plane ride between Scotland and England, my stomach filled with butterflies from a heavy mix of interview nerves, romance nerves and mild turbulence.

A few hours later I was leaving the interview and in high spirits. I had nailed it and was looking forward to seeing Sam for our date – the first of what I hoped would be many.

We agreed to keep our meeting place at Admiral Duncan. When I turned up, a little late, I was delighted to see Sam waiting outside with two pints and a big smile.

We opened things up with a big hug and immediately got stuck into conversation: about our lives, our jobs, our exes. Talk alone it flowed.

Soon, I was entering a second round. Then it was their turn to get more drinks.

And then, suddenly, here I was: shocked and surprised, and more than a little disappointed that I had royally messed up by returning to Scotland.

I rolled Ryanair app to find the cheapest departing flight for the next morning (annoyingly, it was at 6.30am) and inwardly I rolled my eyes at my disorganization.

As soon as I booked my replacement flight, I frantically started looking for any accommodation under £90: I had already made a lot of money by booking another plane.

However, noting the stress line that had emerged between my eyebrows, Sam offered to let me stay on my eyebrows, stressing that nothing physical was expected: they just wanted to help me.

Weighing my options, I figured this was the best I was going to get, so I had to jump at it, even if I was grossed out by the concept of annoying someone.

That evening, after another round or two, we took the bus to Sam’s home in east London. We ate some quick pesto pasta and they laughed at my lack of cooking skills before lending me an oversized t-shirt to sleep in.

With a choice between the shared couch in the living room or Sam’s bed, I chose the latter and soon fell asleep, though I doubt I kept Sam up with my snoring.

The next morning, waking up at 4 am, I was surprised when Sam got up too: he made me a cup of instant coffee and kissed me on the cheek. They even walked me to my bus stop and waved me off: I have a distinct memory of watching them, bathed in the light of the street lamps, from the top deck of a bus.

At 11am that same day, I returned to my flat in Edinburgh and the whole encounter seemed almost like a dream – apart from the damage it left on my bank account.

A few days later, I heard from work: they wanted me and I would start in a few weeks.

A week or so after I moved to London, I texted Sam to see if they wanted to get back together, but they said they had just started dating someone else.

It felt like a shot; but then I realized that while I felt like it was one perfect datethey were just accommodating. One downside to welcoming the queer community is that you might think someone thinks you’re special when really they’re just being nice.

I’ve never texted Sam again, but I see them from afar sometimes Pride the events. It always makes me smile.

*Name has been changed

Have a story you’d like to share? Contact by sending email jessica.aureli@metro.co.uk.

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