Too Good To Let Go by Tomasz Jedrowski

Juno swore off long distance — until they saw Aissata.

“‘Too Good To Let Go’ is such a beautiful, quietly gripping read. It captures a specific almost-missed connection — when you’re not sure if you should reach out, but something in you does anyway. ” — Tahirah Hairston, founder of Ridiculous Little Things

Juno was just finishing up at the restaurant, their fingers still smelling of garlic and cilantro, when the notification came in. Opening Hinge and looking through Aissata’s photos, their stomach contracted: Long blond braids, a smile both confident and kind — exactly my type. I can’t believe they sent me a Like. Juno sent one back and walked to their car, an old green van their friends call The Pickle. The night was cool, even for December, but driving home was easy at this hour. The streets were almost empty. 

Should I reach out, or better wait? A red light flashed at a junction, they stepped on the brake. Reaching for their phone, they scrolled through Aissata’s profile again, and something made them frown. “Looking for short-term relationship.” Juno couldn’t help but think back to their last few dates, how avoidant many of them felt. They sighed. The red light was taking forever.

A breathy pop song hummed in a room across town. Pink fairy lights draped across a vanity glowed like seductive eyes, and Aissata was lying on their bed, staring at their phone. 

C’mon, Juno. There was something about this one, about the way they held themselves in their photos that felt like they knew who they were. Plus, they were beautiful. But no reaction to the Like except a lazy Like back, and Aissata wouldn’t be the one doing all the work if the other gave them so little.

I guess they’re not into me. They put their phone down, flipped over onto their belly. They were exhausted, but they didn’t want to go to sleep just yet. Picking up their phone, they opened up the apps again. The fairy lights glowed and glowed.

No point speaking to people when my energy’s so low, Juno thought that winter. The days were short and the nights too dark, and all they wanted after their late shift was to sleep and wake up to spring. No mental space for meeting strangers. And yet, sometimes they thought back to Aissata, even went and took a peek at their photos.

Still so hot. Maybe some other time.

Winter was dreary that year, but Aissata hardly saw it pass — figuring out their next steps took up so much time. They knew they had to save money to be independent. And even if they were still not out to their parents back in Oregon, moving home was the easiest option right then. They bought their plane ticket, terminated the lease. 

It had been five months since that silent match, and now Aissata was about to leave. It didn’t make sense to meet anyone now. But revisiting Juno’s photos one night made a tingling feeling run through them, all the way to their fingertips. “Works evening shifts, into late-night stargazing,” said the profile. No, it didn’t make sense. Aissata’s fingers moved all by themselves. 

“so are we hanging out at midnight?”

Juno couldn’t help but smile. Funny how things come around. May in bloom, light stretching out the days, and in comes a message from just the one. Juno liked how direct it was, how familiar. This time they didn’t hesitate.

“plsss when are you free?”

The next night they clocked out from work and sped home in The Pickle, excited for the midnight date. They showered, put on their favorite shirt — flannel, plaid — then waited on their bed. Aissata had promised to send their address, but no message came. Juno kept on checking their phone. It was a stormy night, suddenly, and through the open window they watched the ash trees sway from side to side. Am I being stood up? It was past midnight, and still no answer. Juno put down the phone. I guess I’m never hearing from that one again. The trees rustled in the wind, their shhhh like a sulky whisper. So much for avoidant dates.

Aissata woke in a sweat. They stared at their screen, their mind hazy, trying to figure out what time it was. 1 a.m. No no no — this can’t be happening. They had only meant to take a short nap before the date, even set an alarm. I must have slept through it. Ugh I just blew my chance. Opening the chat with Juno, they began to type frantically. 

“hi! god i’m so so sorry, I promise this is not an excuse, but I genuinely just …”

Soft morning light streamed in through the window. Juno was surprised by Aissata’s message. They didn’t need to write if they didn’t want to meet up. But then again ... They sat up in bed, looked at the ash trees outside. They were all still then, leaves reflecting the new light. 

C’mon. Only one way to find out.

Parked in front of Aissata’s that night, Juno checked their hair one last time. Some more hairspray, then they were ready. A figure appeared on the swing porch in an ankle-length cardigan. Juno got out of the car and walked up to the porch, heart pounding in their chest. Aissata was even more beautiful in person than in their photos.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

The first hug: For an instant, fingertips rested on flannel. I love that they’re taller than me, Aissata thought. And that wolf cut, and those rings! 

“Come in.”

It was a lot, but Juno liked what they saw: the overflowing bookcase, the collages on the wall, the little prayer rug, the pink lights. Already it felt like the inside of Aissata’s mind, already it felt good to be in it. They talked about their gender journeys, their obsession with “New Girl” (they’d both seen all seasons), their role as the eldest “daughters” of their families. Juno was funny and charming. I feel like myself around them, Aissata thought. Maybe this is more than just a hookup.

Time began to crash, speeding up and slowing down. Before the two knew it — before they could run out of words or kisses — the clocks said 6 a.m. and Aissata had to leave for work.

“I feel like it’s time to talk about …”

Their third evening together in a row. Lying entwined on Aissata’s bed, a Reneé Rapp song playing in the background. Juno looked up, eyebrows raised. 

“Talk about what?”

Aissata sat up, reached for the words. On their first date they had mentioned to Juno that they were planning on moving, but already that night felt like a long time ago. 

“How we feel about me leaving. My flight is in ten days …”

Before they could even finish, Juno buried their face in a pillow and began to cry. It only really hit them then, the déjà vu of it, the cruel sitcom twist.

Why is this happening to me again? Juno explained about their first relationship. How they’d drifted apart after one of them moved away. How they’d sworn to themselves never to do long distance again. 

“People are different when they’re apart,” they said, wiping their eyes with the sleeve of their sweatshirt, not looking at Aissata. “You can’t replace someone’s presence with calls or photos.” 

Aissata nodded, waited for this tide to pass. Then they took Juno’s hand and led them outside onto the swing porch. The night was deep, the sky thick with stars blinking down at them. Looking at Juno, it hit Aissata that they’d never felt so safe to love. I’m not letting this feeling go. 

“You know, my move isn’t forever,” they said, trying to sound reassuring. “I’m just going for the summer, maybe a little longer. After that I’m free. We could figure something out then — together.” 

Juno looked up, surprised, but Aissata’s eyes left no doubt they meant it. They had a way of making the difficult seem easy, of seeing beyond fear. For a moment they both sat in silence, their eyes drawn up into the night. The stars looked like they were glued into place, but Juno knew they were moving all the time, forever rearranging themselves. Maybe we can’t know how things will turn out, they suddenly thought. Maybe this is too good to let go. 

Their hands found each other, and together they left the porch, back to the sanctuary of Aissata’s room. It occurred to them both that soon it would be time to leave this place behind, to move everything into boxes and tape them shut — the books, the prayer rug, even the fairy lights. But in that moment, everything was still how it needed to be. Two people in a luminous room, slowly turning toward each other.

Editor’s Note: After finding their way back to one another, Aissata and Juno got married in March 2025.

Tomasz Jedrowski is the author of “Swimming in the Dark,” a queer love story set in 1980s Communist Poland. The novel was selected as Book of the Year by The Guardian and NPR, and was picked by Dua Lipa for her monthly book club, Service95. It’s currently being adapted as a play and as an opera.