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By continuing to use this site, you consent to the use of cookies.We use cookies to offer you a better experience, personalize content, tailor advertising, provide social media features, and better understand the use of our services.Three days later, my father ended up in the hospital with a blood clot — a complication from leukemia. The last time I saw her screen name was with the message, “They Timed Out.”Midsummer is when she was due to return to the States, but I don’t know if she ever did. Yet my happiest memories here have nothing to do with Nevada or the mountains or the university.Still, if there was ever a week when I could have used six hours of nightly companionship, that was it. They are of me sitting on my couch furiously tapping away on a three-inch screen to a woman on the other side of the world, a woman I know both intimately and not at all.*Names have been changed to protect identities En español She wrote him first. In the summer, when the trees leafed out, you couldn't even see the road or the neighbors. She'd grown up here, in a conservative pocket of Virginia. When it came to meeting new people, however, her choices were limited. The holidays were coming, and she didn't want to face them alone.A short message sent on a Thursday evening in early December 2013, under the subject line: Match? She signed up for a six-month subscription to Match.com, the largest and one of the oldest dating services on the Web.The times we each tried to rescue a hurt animal we came across. Fittingly and as promised, I don’t remember what day that was.

We were a most pleasant distraction for each other, but school would eventually resume for her, and I’d eventually meet someone in Reno.

We stretched it out for another few weeks, playing a single move per day accompanied by a single chat, neither of us willing to concede the end. I know how she felt when staring into the eyes of a buffalo up close.

One night, I sent her a message thanking her for the last two months, letting her know that however unorthodox it had been, I had loved every minute. I know she would love to see “Owl Jeopardy,” where every response starts with “Whoooo.” I know she gets mildly aroused talking about compound miter saws and has a weird thing for hands and likes to sing songs about her cat.

In person, I’m typically so shy in romantic situations that I can barely make eye contact with someone I’ve just met. Two weeks in, after playing and chatting four to six hours every night, she warned me that she was meeting her father in South Korea the coming weekend and wouldn’t be around to keep up our nightly ritual.

It’s strange to miss someone you have never actually met.

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