I sat diagonally from him at the table when I overheard that he was from Ukraine. I yelled across the table informing him that I was Ukrainian too, but my St. Louis accent betrayed me. He dismissed me immediately.

Not one to accept defeat, I picked up my tray and moved closer. We bantered back and forth, me trying to prove my Ukrainian blood and him trying to discredit it. With no proof in hand, I ended the conversation informing him that I’d bring back evidence. “And when I do”, I said, with outstretched arms, “I want to feel the love!” I walked out of the cafeteria that day, but not out of his life. Neither one of us knew just how much love we’d soon have for each other.