I met him on a dating app that felt less like romance and more like “endless window-shopping.” I wasn’t chasing anything serious—just an escape from my cramped life in Bristol. Soren lived in coastal Norway and sent photos of “snow-dusted hills” and “green ribbons of Northern Lights stretching across the sky.” While I complained about routine and rain, his messages became my way out.
We talked constantly. Late-night video calls felt deliberate, almost sacred. He listened, remembered details, and described a calm life of hiking, slow mornings, and working as a “freelance translator.” It all sounded meaningful, but I stayed cautious, knowing how easily connection can be an illusion.
After a brutal workday, I tested him. On impulse, I said I’d “quit my job” and was ready to come to Norway. I expected distance. Instead, he reacted with excitement, talking about trains and guest rooms. He didn’t retreat—he welcomed me.
An hour later, everything changed. He asked for a video call and appeared tense in a stark office. He confessed the truth: he was an investigator tracking “international romance fraud.” Our match “hadn’t been accidental.” The investigation was over, but he kept talking because “the connection had become real.”
We chose honesty. I booked the flight. When I landed in Oslo and saw him waiting, I knew I’d “made the right choice.” What began with deception became the most honest relationship I’d ever known.
