She agonized about how to save her relationship only once before, at the end of Nirav’s one-year exchange in university, the summer he went back to London. Back then, she had no desire to split herself in two, she wanted to follow him across the ocean, whole and devoted, all of herself with all of him, always. Even though she was young, twenty-one at the time, she knew he was different than the soppy sucks she usually attracted, and the accomplished assholes that attracted her. He was worth crossing the cold Atlantic for, because even in those early days, she knew she had met the man she was going marry, for love, not obligation, like her parents.

They met in Microbiology lab, arguably the least romantic of locales with its pungent scents of agar and microbial cultures oppressing the air, vapours sweet and mouldy. She arrived late for class after getting lost in the unfamiliar and winding halls of the newly constructed Biology building. By the time she tiptoed into the room, red-faced and hunched, and took a seat at the nearest unoccupied bench, the other students had already paired up. She was in the process of accepting that she would have to figure out the labs on her own, when she heard an intriguingly-exotic English voice say to her, “Pardon me, but you wouldn’t be in the market for a laboratory partner, would you?” He beamed at her with a toothy smile that crinkled the corners of his hazel eyes. “I’m Nirav,” he said. She noted his Indian name along with his fair complexion. It wasn’t until their first date, after midterms, that he told her about his mixed heritage, an experience he described as not white enough for the English and not brown enough for the Asians. She eyed him, sceptical. A charming accent wasn’t going to earn them nineties. Still, she needed a partner. “I’m Kavita,” she grinned, not knowing at the time that such a small choice would change the course of her life.

When they weren’t in class or at the library, they explored the city together. She assumed the role of tour guide and took him to the usual places—Parliament Hill, the Byward Market, various museums that had free admission on Thursday evenings.

During Winterlude, when the canal froze, she lent him a pair of Sunil’s skates and taught him how to skate. She found it irresistibly cute every time he exclaimed, “I can’t believe I’m actually skating on a river!” While inwardly she corrected his misnomer—canal not river—outwardly she could only smile. They shared their first kiss after an evening skate, in the orange glow of a Beavertails stand, the taste of cinnamon and sugar on their lips.