There You Are by William Rayfet Hunter

Years after a chance meeting, Tony and Sam chase a spark.

“William Rayfet Hunter brings us deep into the rawness of love, and the often wavering, vulnerable path of keeping it.” — Noora Raj Brown, founder of Objects of Desire

January. The West Village. Midnight, at least. There’s a chill in the air, but I don’t feel it, wrapped as I am in the electric buzz of the bar. Tonight, anything is possible. Tonight, New York spreads her arms wide and cracks open a propitious smile. Tonight, miracles could happen. My friends and I bar hop, leaping from place to place. Carefree club kids and this is our playground. The night is an outline. Shape and color, sound and sweat, just passing through. Fleeting glimpses of a thousand lives wash over one another. Something pulls me toward the bar. Thirst or the riptide of fortune? Who’s to say? Out of the blur, a smile splits the haze. A pair of eyes linger just a hair too long. I linger too. Look away. Back. Smile. Away again. I don’t remember walking over, but now he’s in front of me. Say something. Say anything. “Hi.” It’s all I can muster. It slides into the ocean of sound we swim in. “Hi.” He says it back and I am caught. But now another voice, close in my ear. “We gotta go.” Our friends have left, no time to loiter. I’m pulled out, down the street to drags and dives as we swoop through the swirling mist of a winter night fast becoming a frosted morning. And I wonder: What in the world just happened?

Stop looking at him. But how can I turn away? Beauty itself, bobbing just out of reach. Stop it, he’ll see you. But I want to be seen. By him, at least. An extra second passes and his eye catches mine. Soft features seem to dance as the hot lamps of the disco lights cast vivid jewels across the sloping angles of his face. He looks to the bar then back at me. I can’t stop staring, nor do I want to. I want to drink it all in. But then he is moving toward me, the bodies around him twirling out like a school of frightened fish, silver flashing from hands and throats. “Hi,” he says and it’s so casual, so nonchalant that I know this moment must be significant. “Hi,” I say in return, flicking through the thousand questions that leap half-formed in my mind. But now a friend appears at his shoulder and before I can ask his name, he’s spinning back into the crowd. Away from me. I scan the room for a final look at him, as a single question escapes from the milieu and lodges itself somewhere in my chest: Who on earth was that?

Time passes, as it tends to do. The world changes and so do I. I date. I dream. I stop dating, stop dreaming. Take some time. Take a breath. In … and out … I realize that love, in my 20s, was a bit of a wash. Learning how to love, learning how to love myself, mistakes on all sides. Sometimes it felt like me and the guys I was with were not only on different pages but in totally different books. Each of my five past relationships taught me a heap of lessons but I needed a break. Am I ready yet? It’s been two years since I last went on a date. Four, since I glimpsed a face that propelled me across a crowded bar toward … a stranger? We didn’t even exchange names. But here I am, almost half a decade later, and I feel like I’m ready to dip my toe back into the cool waters of the New York City dating pool. I’m centered, grounded. I feel like myself again. I’m thriving. I take a deep breath. And I’m ready to dive in.

When do you accept that a moment, however special, was just a moment? I thought about that moment often in the months after, replaying it in my mind and wondering: What if? What if he’d stayed? What if I’d gotten his name? His number? What then? At times, I question if it even happened. If he felt the same spark I did. But the memory fades and becomes exactly that: a single memory in the long history of a life lived. Dating in LA is … well, it’s like most things in LA: a ton of auditions, a few callbacks, but still no starring role. It’s felt like people want the “boyfriend experience” but haven’t been willing to put in the work. I’ve been hurt and the walls I’ve built to protect myself have started to close me off. Stop expending so much energy on this. I decide to pull back a little, keep the faith but leave it up to fate. I’m visiting New York for Memorial Day weekend and on a whim, I open Hinge. I tap through a few profiles not expecting too much, when out of nowhere an unmistakable smile leaps from my phone screen. I’ve seen this man before …

“Hi.” It’s as good an opener as any. It worked before. But this time I get a name and when we match, I can even ask a follow-up question. “Do I know you from somewhere?” It can’t be. But it is. I know it and he knows it too. “I was thinking the same thing,” comes his reply. We start chatting back and forth. I feel this immediate connection and I think he feels it too. He is so genuine and open. He doesn’t shy away from telling me who he is, what he’s looking for, how that split second in the bar echoed in his mind just like it did in mine. I’m overcome by the desire to know all I can about him.

I scroll through his profile and confirm my suspicions. It’s Tony! Not that I knew he was Tony before, but now I do and here he is, beaming up at me. I stare at his perfect smile, read his adorable answers, and begin to realize that my initial attraction to him all those years ago wasn’t just a fluke. This guy is special. And we’ve found each other again. We chat a little and waste no time. From the second I see him slide into the restaurant the very next day, sleek and playful, I’m smitten. He has this megawatt smile that completely takes me aback and back to that half-forgotten night. It’s surreal. Time seems to collapse between now and that moment all those years ago. What strikes me is that, despite his magnetism, he seems so grounded, so fixed in the here and now. He is almost singularly focused on getting to know me. And so, over dinner, that’s exactly what he does.

When I walk into the restaurant and see Sam waiting for me, my heart skips a beat. The part of me that suggested I was ready to date again sings, I told ya so! Our shared memory was not just some fever dream. That spark, that moment in the bar, was real, and by some technological miracle, that spark has returned. Over dinner we breathe life into the ember, and it becomes a flame. There is so much to know about him. I want to know it all. We have so much in common, in so many ways. I see myself reflected back at me and for maybe the first time, I think I like what I see. He is effervescent, bursting with a current of energy that makes me want to grab hold of life. And at the same time, there’s this realness to him, a sense of a truly genuine guy who is present and interesting and interested. The date ends too soon. We agree on a second date while Sam is still in town. One of his friends is throwing a magazine launch party in Brooklyn. Very Samantha Jones. We meet for dinner again before the party and he tells me about his love of horror movies. I confess to my undying love for “Scream 2,” and we swap takes and recommendations back and forth. We float out of the restaurant and into the party, totally fixed on each other.

This guy is the best plus-one ever. So engaged, so full of life, so attentive. Walking around this party with him on my arm, I begin to think that maybe I could get used to this. Friends and strangers are as impressed as I am by his ability to click with almost anyone. I am more taken by the man I am getting to know. As we waltz around the room chatting and laughing, we learn everything we can about each other. I try not to think about the fact that I am leaving in the morning. I try not to think about the fact that I live a six-hour flight away. I try not to think about the fact that I’ve never had a serious relationship before, but suddenly, with Tony, it’s starting to feel possible. Right now, all we have is tonight. Anything that comes after would be a bonus. Right now, we are here. Hand in hand, whirling through the thick current of night and into a sunny May morning. Hand in hand, we walk to get food — breakfast sandwiches as big as your head — and stutter our tentative goodbyes. “See you soon,” Tony says to me. And I hope he means it.

I feel seen. Listened to in a way I don’t think I’ve felt before. That connection I felt when we met continues to deepen despite the fact that we haven’t been able to see each other again yet. I’m kinda intimidated by the strength of my own emotion. It’s a strange combination of wanting to explore where this feeling goes and the fear of starting something serious again. Am I getting in the way of my own happiness? The thought rolls around in my head, uninvited and unwilling to leave. We’ve only met three times and one of those was over four years ago. Can I really be feeling this way about Sam already? But I am. It’s real and I can’t deny it. Sam is amazing and is so open and clear with me. But I still have questions. Ones I’m too afraid to ask. The fear fills in the blanks for me. It dredges up old experiences and makes me question whether Sam is on the same page. I’ve done this all before. The feeling of falling then coming up short when the fit doesn’t feel quite right. I want to reach through my phone screen, hold his face in both my hands and ask him, Is this as real for you as it is for me?

Tony has this stupid hat in his closet. It’s shaped like a goose. And I couldn’t love it more. He says it was for some costume party but he never ended up wearing it. We’ve been bonding over movies lately, so we put a bunch of our faves and stuff from our “To Watch” lists in the hat. Whenever we’re bored, we pull a movie from the hat and watch it together on a call. It’s been so incredible to get to know Tony, I am learning so much about him. About his childhood down in Virginia, his time touring as a musical theater performer. About how gentle and kind and thoughtful he is. This guy is amazing. But usually when people get into long-distance relationships, they’ve spent at least some time together first, right? I’ve never really done this before, never got to the stage where it feels so important. Does he even wanna get into something so difficult? So expensive? So … logistically complex? I know my walls are up. I’m projecting old fears onto Tony but I wish I could march around to his house, look him in the eye and ask, Do you like me as much as I like you?

Just before the Fourth of July weekend, we hop on a video call. It’s easy, comfortable. Although we’ve both been busy, juggling work, packed social lives, and being dads to our two very different dogs, when we find time to chat, it’s like no time has passed at all. Talking to Sam is the easiest thing in the world. He sees me in a way I’ve always wanted to be seen. Listens in a way I’ve always wanted to be listened to. We chat about our plans for the weekend, and I realize we both have a few days open. Sometimes in life, when you really want something, when something seems this good, you’ve got to take a risk. “Book a flight,” I say. “Come see me this weekend.”

I can’t believe he just asked me that. Of course I’m gonna go. You gotta answer when opportunity knocks like that. We end the call, and I book the next flight out to NYC. When I land, we drop off my stuff at Tony’s place and head straight out to Coney Island. It’s a magical day. We grab watermelon margaritas on the pier, and it starts to sink in that he’s right here beside me. We run around the theme park like little kids, hopping on rides, challenging each other to one-on-one laser tag. We laugh so much it feels like we’re gonna burst open. We take the train back to Tony’s place, wrapped in the day, cheeks flushed from the excitement. Fireworks doesn’t even cover it.

No one told me that falling in love would be this easy or this complicated. We bonded so much over the things we have in common that I worry we’ve ignored our differences. I was raised by Black Southern Baptists in Virginia, which doesn’t exactly map onto Sam’s experience as a white Jewish guy from the New York suburbs. Even though we came from different places, I don’t feel a gap between us. It’s like we’re looking in the same direction, just from different starting points. Where it matters most — the things we want, the things we value — we’re right beside each other. We both want something real. Something sturdy enough to last through the hard days and soft enough to feel like home. Maybe that’s the real miracle: finding someone whose heart beats at a rhythm that sounds like your own.

I feel this sense that, somehow, even with all the different roads we took to get here, we’re meeting at the same destination. It’s not just chemistry or attraction anymore. It’s something steadier, something that feels like a real foundation. And with Tony flying out to LA soon for two whole weeks, the energy between us is pure excitement and relief. Relief that, for once, timing and luck and life are all on our side. That soon, it won’t be screens and airports between us, just air.

When I step through Arrivals I see Sam waiting for me. The warm summer day buzzes with anticipation. Sam’s short film has been accepted into a film festival in Hollywood. I meet his sister and her boyfriend and it’s just as easy as everything else with Sam seems to be. We get our picture taken on the red carpet and it feels like we’re the ones in a movie. The lights go down as Sam’s film starts and I hold his hand as I get a proper glimpse of the artist I’m falling for.

Tony is the perfect person to have on my arm for this moment. The red carpet, the premiere. I am so glad this has all fallen into place. But I jokingly remind Tony that my life isn’t always this glamorous, this picture perfect. He gives me a look and a squeeze of the hand that lets me know that even without all this, he’d be here. Then suddenly someone is calling my name and our film has won its category. I’m overcome with emotion and I just keep thinking: Is all this real?

When he asks me the first time, I don’t have an answer. I know what I feel, but I need to be sure.

When I ask him, he says he needs some time. I give him time, but I don’t know how much I have. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to ask him again.

I take some time. Get centered. Ground myself in the knowledge of what I feel in my heart. I take a deep breath. And I’m ready to dive in. So, this time, I ask him, “Will you be my boyfriend?”

I’m flying to New York to stay with my boyfriend. It’s a simple sentence. I try it out a few times. Rolling it around my mouth. I say it out loud. To a few close friends and family. A simple sentence that holds so much. Over the past few weeks, it feels like we’ve broken through some sort of barrier. It’s like saying “I love you” made us realize we had to say all the other stuff too. We get real with each other. If we’re going to make this work, we have to communicate. Separated by an entire country, all we have when we’re apart is our words, so we gotta use them. I’m learning how to open up. Tony is patient and endlessly kind. We both have insecurities, doubts that seep into the present. If we keep these parts of ourselves hidden, we are standing in the way of the future we’re trying to build.

Having Sam stay for a whole month feels like winning the lottery. Here’s this wonderful guy, who I’ve been separated from for so long. And I get to wake up and see his face every day. For four whole weeks. We make the most of every second we have together. Whether it’s a rainy day trip to Woodbury Commons to pick out new outfits, or a bar crawl with our friends through Hamilton Heights, or a lazy Sunday morning snuggled up with our dogs, we know that every moment counts. I meet Sam’s parents and I get a peek at the wonderful recipe that created the man I love. After months of to-ing and fro-ing from coast to coast, carving out time for video calls and long-distance date nights, we finally get to slow down. We relax into a new and welcome domesticity. Wandering through my neighborhood discovering new favorites and old loves. Grocery shopping and cooking each other our favorite meals. Our dogs snuggle up together on the couch. One night we make a pilgrimage to the bar where we met, only this time we are together in the throbbing crowd and when the night ends we walk out hand in hand into cool fall air.

I don’t believe in “lost time.” When we first laid eyes on each other in that hazy bar, neither of us were ready for what we have now. We met each other exactly when we needed to. Tony has taught me to open up and for the first time, I truly know that I’m worthy of the love he shows me. I used to think I needed to change in order to find love, but Tony never allows me to forget that I’m already enough. We throw a beautiful 15-person dinner followed by karaoke for Tony’s birthday. Surrounded by family and friends, celebrating him and each other, the moment feels like a really important milestone.

We never go for more than three weeks without seeing each other. And we never leave each other’s cities without knowing when the next time will be. It feels safe, soft, and solid. I don’t think I understood what real love looked and felt like, until now. I never felt confident enough, strong enough. But now I see the world in a different way. I hear things in a different way when Sam says them. When we met, it felt like we were both so ready. We hit the ground running. And we’ve been scampering through life together ever since. For the first time in my life, when Sam tells me I’m beautiful, I believe it. We are helping each other write a new story. And this is just the prologue.

William Rayfet Hunter is a British-Jamaican author, essayist, and poet from the North West of England. They write about love, power, and the messy parts of being alive. Their debut novel, “Sunstruck,” was published in May 2025.