The lockdown wiped out the businesses she'd spent twenty years building. She never once stopped calling me every morning and every night.

I went to Thailand for the first time in 2019. I'm 39, Irish, and I'd travelled plenty before that, all over Europe, a couple of months through South America, even Australia once, but for some reason I'd never made it to Thailand. I always put it off for the following year, as if the country would just wait for me unchanged while I ticked other destinations off the list first, one after another, no particular reason for any of it. After every single time I've been back since, my only real regret is not going years earlier.

Since it was my first trip, I booked onto a group tour with a guide, something I wouldn't normally do, but it seemed like the sensible option so I wouldn't miss anything travelling alone in a country I knew nothing about. Most of the group were older Australians, lovely people all of them, full of stories from their own younger travels that came round again over dinner most nights, though after a couple of beers they'd usually head to bed fairly early, around half nine most evenings. I, on the other hand, would sneak off on my own most nights to see what I could find on the streets near the hotel while the rest of the group slept. The guide warned me on the first day, half joking, to be careful not to get lost, since he'd have to count heads every morning before the bus left and he'd rather not have any scares.

We spent a few days in Bangkok, temples, markets, the sticky heat I still hadn't got used to and that left my shirt soaked through before midday, then we travelled around southern Thailand by bus, stopping in a couple of places I don't even remember the names of anymore, before eventually arriving in Koh Samui. That's where I met a local woman called Mali, one afternoon when the guide had given us free time and I'd gone out walking without any particular destination in mind.

She was divorced, had two grown-up children who lived off the island, and owned a few small businesses right there, a food stall near the harbour, a couple of rooms she rented out to backpackers, and something to do with boat trips I never quite got my head around no matter how many times she patiently explained it to me.

We got on really well from the start, talking about nothing in particular for hours like we'd known each other for years. Instead of showing me the usual tourist spots the rest of the group would visit with the guide the next day, Mali took me to places most visitors never get to see, a small beach that didn't appear on any tourist map, reachable down a path through the trees, a noodle stall only the locals knew about, where the owner greeted her by name, a temple up in the hills you rode a motorbike to along a dirt road that showed up on no app. It honestly felt like having my own personal tour guide, only far better company than any official guide I'd ever hired before, and no group of retirees waiting on the bus.

I particularly remember one specific afternoon, the two of us sitting on the wooden deck of one of her empty rooms that week, when I asked her, not very tactfully, how she managed running so many businesses on her own. She laughed and told me she'd started with the food stall almost fifteen years earlier, with a borrowed fryer and a folding table, and that everything else had come along slowly after that, with no master plan behind any of it. She didn't seem remotely impressed with herself telling it, which, coming from a fairly grey office job back in Ireland with none of that behind it, impressed me even more.

When my holiday ended and I got back to the airport, the goodbye felt stranger than I expected for someone I'd only just met. We kept in touch every single day from then on. She'd call me every morning before I started work in Ireland, and again every night before bed, the time difference turning into a kind of shared clock between us that I ended up memorising without meaning to. We were already making plans for me to come back the following year and spend a month with her, which felt reasonable enough at the time and, looking back, seems fairly rushed for two people who'd only spent a handful of days together in person.

Unfortunately, the lockdown changed everything. Tourism disappeared overnight, her businesses suffered badly, the rooms sitting empty, the food stall shut for months on end, and after nearly 20 years on Koh Samui she had to move back home to Isaan because she couldn't keep up the rent or pay anyone anymore. I remember the call where she told me, her voice flatter than usual, talking about twenty years of her life packed into a few suitcases, moved back to the province she'd left as a young woman with no real plan beyond starting over from nothing.

Even through all of that, we never lost touch. She still called me every day at the same time as always, never asked me for help directly, and never pressured me to move to Thailand or to do anything for her at all. Every now and then I'd send her 5,000 baht to help out because I wanted to, not because she expected it or ever hinted at it. I remember sending it once without warning her, during the worst months of the lockdown, and she called that same evening practically to tell me off, saying she was managing fine, that it wasn't necessary, that she'd pay it back as soon as she could even though I insisted there was no need.

I always told her I couldn't relocate full-time because I'm just an average guy with an ordinary job, without the savings to make the kind of leap other people seem to make without a second thought. But it's reassuring knowing she's independent, has her own home in Isaan, and isn't relying on me financially in any way, something I didn't take for granted with anyone after all the stories I'd heard before meeting her.

During those lockdown years we talked about plenty we probably wouldn't have got round to so soon if we'd still been able to see each other in person every few months. Her kids, my family back in Ireland, what each of us expected from life at this stage, whether either of us would ever actually be willing to change countries for the other. None of those conversations reached any firm conclusion at the time, but they let us get to know each other far more deeply than short holiday visits every so often ever would have on their own.

I've been back to Thailand a few times since, as soon as the borders reopened and then whenever work allowed, and we get on even better with each visit than the last. Every visit also brings small changes you only notice if you keep coming back over time. The first time I went back after the lockdown, her new house in Isaan was still half furnished, boxes still unopened in a corner of the living room. Last time she already had curtains up, a small garden with chillies she grew herself, and a photo of the two of us from that first trip to Koh Samui hanging on the wall by the front door, which honestly wasn't something I expected to find hanging there, in such a visible spot for anyone walking in.

The last time we went together to visit her family in the village, ate sitting on the floor of her sister's house surrounded by nieces and nephews who wouldn't stop staring at me and touching my arm to see if the hair felt different, and for the first time it felt like this could be something permanent rather than just a very long holiday repeated year after year.

I'm really looking forward to getting back to Thailand and seeing her again. Hopefully we'll be able to pick up right where we left off, like we always do once we're back in person. I do actually plan on asking her to marry me the next time I'm there, so I really hope there isn't a part two to this story where I end up losing everything.

I'm not entirely sure how she'll react, if I'm honest, though after all these years and all these daily calls I'd hazard a guess she expects it almost as much as I do at this point. Either way, I plan on turning up with the ring tucked away in my suitcase and letting her decide the rest of the story from there.

But yeah, that's my little experience so far, hopefully it's useful to anyone out there going through something similar.