People love a good origin story. Ours is almost embarrassingly simple: we met in high school, in Nepal, in 2014. No grand gesture, no movie moment — just two teenagers who kept finding reasons to be in the same place, until being in the same place stopped feeling like a coincidence.
If you'd told either of us then that this was the person — the one we'd cross the world for, build a life around, point a camera at for years — we'd have laughed. You don't know that at sixteen. You just know that the day feels better when they're in it.
The thing nobody warns you about young love
Everyone has an opinion about people who fall in love young. It won't last. You'll grow apart. You haven't seen enough of the world yet. And honestly — they're not wrong to worry. Most of the time, they're right.
What they don't tell you is what it's like when it does hold. When the person you chose at seventeen turns out to be someone you'd choose again at twenty-five, for completely different reasons. We didn't stay together because we were the same people we were in that school corridor. We stayed because we kept choosing each other through every version we became.
Falling in love young isn't the brave part. Staying — through the moves, the distance, the growing up — that's the part that took nerve.
Two kids, one quiet decision
There wasn't a single moment we'd point to and call the moment. It was a hundred small ones. Walking home the long way. Saving up for the same small plans. The slow, unspoken agreement that whatever came next, we'd rather face it together than apart.
That decision got tested almost immediately — by oceans, visas, time zones, and the very specific loneliness of building a life in a country that isn't the one you grew up in. We'll tell those parts of the story too. But all of it starts here, in Nepal, with two kids who fell in love and somehow never grew out of it.
We're still figuring out most things. But that part — choosing each other, on purpose, again and again — we got right early.
