Asal lived in Maryland . Edris was in Mazar-e-Sharif.

They met through a global education forum online. Asal had joined out of curiosity; Edris, out of passion. Their first conversation was about books. By the second week, it was about life. By the second month, they were part of each other’s days.

Mazar was quiet most nights, and Edris would sit under the stars on his family’s rooftop, phone in hand, waiting for Asal’s call. In Virginia, she’d make late-night tea, tired from school and work, but always wide awake when it came time to hear his voice.

Their worlds were different, but their hearts beat to the same rhythm.

They spoke of poetry, of dreams, of building something lasting despite the impossible geography.

Asal worried every time the news mentioned instability in the north.

Edris worried that one day, her life in the U.S. would grow too full to leave space for him.

But love, real love, finds ways to grow.

They sent letters and books. She learned words in Dari just for him. He’d send her photos of the Blue Mosque in the morning light. They held onto hope like it was a rope across the ocean.

Years passed, and finally—after endless paperwork, interviews, and uncertainty—Edris got his visa.

The airport in D.C. was crowded the day he arrived. Asal stood with a handmade sign, hands shaking.

When Edris walked out, he looked around, unsure—until he saw her. She looked exactly like she did on screen, yet more alive, more real. She ran to him and didn’t stop until her arms were around his neck.

They held on, not speaking, not needing to.

He whispered, “This doesn’t feel real.”

She smiled through tears, “It’s real. You’re home now.”

And in that moment, all the waiting, all the nights apart, melted away.

They were no longer separated by oceans, borders, or time zones—

Only heartbeats.

And they were finally beating side by side.

The End