On this day 15 years ago, I had made arrangements to meet a woman in person with whom I had been talking on MySpace for a couple of months. She was funny, clever and passionate, and I fancied her. A lot. I didn’t know if she felt the same, and I had told myself even just being her friend would have been fine, but I secretly hoped for a mutual attraction.

I had endured some good natured ribbing from friends and family about things not being as they seemed, but I never doubted for one second that she was genuine. She spoke lovingly about her son, her dog and cats, openly about herself and was winningly silly. I’ve always said that I like people who can talk shite well, and she and I quickly fell in to a rhythm of ever evolving nonsense that had me grinning like a loon. The highlight of my day was seeing that I had a new message from her, and we talked about everything, from mental health and family to Calvin & Hobbes and whether or not you could fit hydraulic suspension on a Fiat Punto. Why would someone go that far to pretend to be somebody else? I knew she was who she said she was.

She was coming to Edinburgh to catch up with friends for her birthday, and asked did I want to meet. I said yes, checked it was okay to bring a couple of friends and we agreed on a time.

That night we immediately fell in to the same groove we had online. Silly, warm, flowing conversation. And then, at some point, it was just me and her.

She says she instigated the kiss. I know it was me. But that doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that there was a kiss.

And that kiss led to everything we have now.