Love,
Interrupted

Two women promised they would see the Golden Gate Bridge for the first time once they were together. They had no idea how long that would take.

By Kelsey Rexroat

Ashwini Naidu knew when her car was going over the Golden Gate Bridge, because the rumble of the pavement beneath her changed. She sat in the passenger seat, fully reclined, and clenched her eyes shut. From the driver’s seat, her coworker updated Ashwini on their progress—a quarter of the way across, halfway—until, finally, Ashwini was in the clear.

When they’d started out on their hour-long, southward journey from Sonoma to San Francisco earlier that day, Ashwini was driving. She had intended to follow a circuitous route that would take them over the Richmond–San Rafael Bridge into the East Bay, then west across the Bay Bridge into the city proper. Circumventing the Golden Gate would add 30 minutes to their drive, but Ashwini didn’t care about that. She didn’t realize that her GPS had rerouted them until she noticed the Marin Headlands rising above the highway. She knew what that meant: The bridge loomed ahead. Without hesitating, she pulled her car onto the shoulder of the freeway.

“You have to drive,” she explained to her bewildered coworker. “I can’t see the Golden Gate Bridge.”

Ashwini, who was in her mid-thirties, had never laid eyes on the iconic structure in person. It wasn’t for lack of opportunity—by 2023, she had been living in the Bay Area for three years. The soaring vermilion bridge is one of the first sights that most transplants tick off their must-see list, and Ashwini’s work took her all around San Francisco. Avoiding even a glimpse of it took effort. But Ashwini had made a promise to another woman 7,500 miles away: She would not see the bridge until they were finally hand in hand.

Girl Meets Girl

Before she moved to San Francisco—before she fell in love, before she even knew what being in love felt like—Ashwini lived in the vibrant metropolis of Bengaluru, more commonly known as Bangalore. She was gregarious, with a natural curiosity about everyone she met that helped her make friends easily. She was also ambitious. While attending an all-girls Catholic high school, she cofounded a company that offered arts programs for kids.

It was also in high school that Ashwini realized she was attracted to girls. Her feelings seemed natural to her, and she never questioned them until other girls at school began giggling and teasing one another about their crushes on boys. She worried what they would think if she revealed that she didn’t feel the same way, so she kept her romantic inclinations to herself. “I did not even know what being gay meant,” Ashwini said. “The idea of marrying a woman was unfathomable at that time, at least for me.”

Before British colonization, India had a history of tolerance toward diverse sexual orientations and gender identities. That ended with the 1860 passage of Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code, which criminalized “carnal intercourse against the order of nature” as an “unnatural offense,” punishable with a fine and up to life in prison. Although the law didn’t specifically refer to homosexuality, it was interpreted as outlawing same-sex relations. In practice, consenting adults were rarely charged under Section 377, but it was used as a tool for harassment, discrimination, and blackmail against people who fell outside the bounds of heteronormativity.

When a female classmate confided to Ashwini that she had a crush on her, Ashwini was initially alarmed. She told the girl that being together was impossible. In time, however, the shock and bewilderment softened. Ashwini noticed how her heart fluttered when she was around the girl, and she started to crave their moments of connection—even if pursuing them meant hiding their burgeoning relationship. “I don’t know what this is,” Ashwini told her, “but can we promise each other that no matter what happens, we won’t give up on our friendship? Let’s just dive into this and see where it takes us.”

Ashwini’s father often said that if something was done in secret, there must be something wrong with it. He was a stay-at-home dad raising Ashwini and her younger sister, Shalini, while their mother worked. He always listened attentively to Ashwini when she talked about her problems, and he offered encouragement and advice. More often than not she listened. But she pursued her clandestine relationship without her dad’s knowledge. In fact, Ashwini told no one about her girlfriend.

The two girls kept their friend circles separate and were careful not to draw attention to themselves in public. In private their inhibitions fell away as they sought refuge in each other. They sat together in their bedrooms and spun dreams of a shared future: living together in a cozy home until their hair silvered and their faces became etched with wrinkles. They even chose names for their imagined children. “It was a very intense, emotional relationship,” Ashwini said.

Those conversations made Ashwini’s heart pound with both exhilaration and trepidation, because even as she allowed herself to dream, a sense of hopelessness would settle over her, a dark cloud that obscured the future. The life the two girls imagined didn’t seem possible in India. Perhaps, her girlfriend suggested, Ashwini could pursue an engineering degree in the United States. Maybe on another continent, far from the confines of home, their love could blossom freely.

Then one day their shared vision was shattered. “I think I’m straight, and I think you’re straight, too. This whole thing was a big mistake,” Ashwini’s girlfriend told her. The words landed like a blow and seemed to confirm Ashwini’s worst fear: that to feel the way she felt, something must be wrong with her. Perhaps her dad was right about what people did in secret. Perhaps, at her core, she was shameful.

Ashwini began to question her worth. She thought about how disappointed her friends and family would be if they knew the real her. Some days she wondered if she would be better off dead.

Ashwini stayed in India for college, earning her degree in industrial engineering, then began her career. She dated men and had one relationship that lasted several years. Her boyfriend declined to introduce her as his partner to his friends, and Ashwini’s friends and her sister insisted that she deserved better. Such red flags didn’t bother her, however. The relationship was just a way to ignore how she truly felt.

In high school, Ashwini had joined the drama club, and she later acted in a few plays and did voiceover work. She knew how to assume the role of a character, to adopt mannerisms and deliver lines convincingly. By dating a man, she told me, “I had the perfect script. But I didn’t feel that anything was natural. It was not coming from the bottom of my heart.”

Meanwhile, a national debate over gay rights in India was simmering. In 2009, when Ashwini was 21, LGBTQ+ activists achieved a significant victory when the Delhi High Court held that Section 377 violated the country’s constitution by depriving citizens of the rights to equal treatment under the law, to privacy, and to freedom of expression. The decision was a response to a lawsuit filed eight years earlier by an HIV/AIDS advocacy organization called the Naz Foundation, and it effectively decriminalized consensual intercourse between same-sex adults.

She sometimes pictured herself in the ocean, swimming as far away from her true self as she could, yet never finding safe harbor.

The ruling was a significant but short-lived step toward equal rights in India. Public attitudes toward LGBTQ+ lifestyles were still predominantly negative. Following the court decision, a poll conducted by the Hindustan Times and the CNN-IBN television network found that 73 percent of Indians thought homosexuality should be illegal. A coalition of conservative religious and political groups appealed the High Court ruling to the country’s Supreme Court on the grounds that “homosexuality was an offense against public morality and Indian cultural values.” In December 2013, the Supreme Court reinstated Section 377. A panel of judges criticized the High Court for “its anxiety to protect the so-called rights of LGBT persons,” whom it claimed made up only “a minuscule fraction” of Indians. Thousands of advocates gathered across the country to protest the decision, many wearing black arm bands and waving rainbow flags.

Ashwini prided herself on keeping up with the news, but when it came to the headlines about Section 377, she read as little as possible. That doesn’t apply to me, she told herself.

What she believed did apply to her was marriage. She wanted a life partner and all the things that came with it—the stability, the mutual support, the shared history. “I come from a household of a very good marriage,” she said. Growing up she had observed her parents’ devotion to each other in a million small ways. Her father had fixed her mother coffee each morning, and the pair would drink from steaming mugs while discussing the day ahead. Her dad bought her mom saris and helped her drape and adjust the complex garments as she got ready to go out. When Ashwini’s mom left for work, her dad stood on the balcony and waved at her until she was out of sight. At the end of the day, he’d await the first glimpse of her returning home.

Ashwini thought that the only hope of achieving something similar to what her parents had was marrying a man, so she didn’t balk when they suggested an arranged marriage. Their union had been arranged, after all, and they were progressive enough culturally that Ashwini knew she’d be able to veto anyone they presented who didn’t suit her.

Marriage would be the ultimate acting role for Ashwini, but she hoped that it would also be her salvation. She sometimes pictured herself in the ocean, swimming as far away from her true self as she could, yet never finding safe harbor. Marriage to a man could be a lifeline, connecting her to the kind of life she wanted—or thought she did. “I was feeling hopeless,” Ashwini said. “That’s when I just gave up and I said, ‘Let’s do this.’ ”

She and her parents were ready to begin the search for a husband, but first Ashwini wanted to go on a trip—a final adventure before she became a man’s wife. She wanted to go to the mountains of India, but not in order to mimic the trope she’d seen in movies: Woman retreats into nature and discovers herself. Rather, the trip would be one last chance to escape the weight of having to hide her identity. “I just wanted to get away,” Ashwini said. “I wanted to get out of my life.”

Ashwini’s sister, Shalini, had some time off before starting a new job and decided to join her. At the last minute, Ashwini’s friend Shinara decided to come along as well, but she suggested they go to Nepal instead. Ashwini’s solo trip at home was now a group expedition abroad. Still, she was eager to make the most of it.

It was morning when the trio arrived at a backpackers’ hostel in Thamel, Kathmandu’s tourist district. The streets outside were choked with honking cars, swerving mopeds, and pedestrians fanning out in every direction. Ashwini, hungover and sleep-deprived from a pre-departure get-together with friends, browsed the notices on a bulletin board while her sister and friend checked in. When the female manager asked for Ashwini’s passport, she walked over and tossed it on the counter without looking up. “Oh, hello,” the woman’s voice rang out. “It’s OK to not be rude.”

The words yanked Ashwini from her fuzzy headspace. She knew that under normal circumstances she would have greeted the manager warmly and riddled her with questions, and she quickly apologized. “Whatever,” the woman muttered. She had long, dark hair and a confident gaze. She studied Ashwini’s passport for what struck Ashwini as longer than necessary.

Their rooms wouldn’t be ready for several hours, so Ashwini, Shalini, and Shinara settled into the hostel’s adjoining restaurant. As they drank Nepal Ice beer, Shalini began sending her sister over to the front counter on various pretexts: Ask the manager to charge our phones. Ask where the good sightseeing is. Shalini had long suspected that Ashwini liked girls, even if her sister never admitted it outright. “At the time, I was just messing with Ashwini,” Shalini said.

Soon Ashwini caught the manager glancing her way from time to time. Shalini noticed, too. Then Ashwini’s cell phone, plugged in at the front desk, began blaring, “Wake up … Wake up ….” Ashwini leapt from her seat to silence it.

“Why is your alarm set to wake up at two in the afternoon?” the manager asked.

Ashwini explained that she was an account manager for an internet security company in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and she had to be at her office during the American workday. She sensed disapproval in the woman. In South Asia, people who work for American companies can have a reputation for being spoiled and entitled.

Another guest walked by and asked the manager how she was feeling. She reassured the guest that she was fine. “Is something wrong?” Ashwini asked.

“Do you need to know everyone’s stories?” the woman replied.

Ashwini figured she couldn’t make things worse at that point, so she plowed ahead. “Well, I’m on vacation. My room isn’t ready. I have nothing else to do. So if you want to offload it with me, you could just tell me what happened.”

The woman paused for a moment and then said that a confrontation with a coworker had upset her.

“What would make it better?” Ashwini asked.

“A drink,” the woman answered.

Ashwini pointed out that they served drinks at the adjoining restaurant. “I can’t drink while I’m working,” the woman said.

“What time do you get off work?” Ashwini asked. She was going to be at the hostel anyway. Maybe they could get a drink together.

The woman agreed.

Srijana Khatri, who goes by Shree, was Ashwini’s opposite in some ways. She was introverted and reflective, more comfortable in her own company than in large groups, though she was fiercely loyal to her family and her close-knit circle of friends. Her patience and nurturing demeanor, coupled with a gift for listening, made people who’d just met her feel at ease.

Growing up, Shree split her time between Kathmandu and the rural mountain district of Okhaldhunga. Her parents worked for the military, and she was raised primarily by her grandparents, from whom she absorbed an old-soul influence. When she realized that she was gay, she kept it to herself. She wasn’t sure how her family would react. Compared with surrounding countries, Nepal was relatively progressive on LGBTQ+ issues. In 2007, the year Shree turned 13, a Supreme Court ruling made Nepal the first country in South Asia to recognize the rights of the LGBTQ+ community. A few years later, in 2011, Nepal became the first country in the world to include a third gender category on its census. A new constitution, adopted in 2015, prohibited discrimination on the grounds of sexual orientation or gender identity. But national law stopped short of recognizing gay marriages, and to many people same-sex relationships remained taboo. Shree knew of gay people who were thrown out of their homes when they came out to their families.

One day when Shree was 16, her grandfather told her he knew that she was different from other girls. If there was something she wanted to tell him, he said, he was ready to listen. Shree had already envisioned the possible outcomes of confiding in him, and not all of them were positive. “I was overwhelmed, because I didn’t expect him to understand,” she said. Still, Shree decided to be honest with him. To her surprise, he quickly accepted her and even offered advice on navigating the road ahead. The news about her sexuality soon spread through her family, and though her parents asked for some time to adjust, everyone supported her.

As a teenager, Shree had two relationships with women. One never evolved past the casual-dating phase. The other, with a woman seven years her senior, ended when the woman’s family arranged for her to marry to a man. This is just how it is, Shree told herself, meeting the disappointment with characteristic equanimity. She knew that the pressure of family expectations could be intense.

After high school, Shree enrolled in college to pursue a degree in business and finance. Then, on the eve of exams in her final year, she began having seizures. She was diagnosed with epilepsy and spent the next year in and out of the hospital, before doctors found the right medication to stabilize her condition. The ordeal left her feeling daunted about returning to school. She took a job at the hostel instead, managing the property and sometimes covering the front desk.

Shree wasn’t sure why she agreed to have a drink with Ashwini. She’d been in a bad mood all day. Perhaps it was Ashwini’s warm eyes and refusal to be cowed by Shree’s terseness that won her over. She figured, why not? The two women made plans for the following evening.

Then a problem arose. The afternoon of the day Shree and Ashwini were supposed to meet up, Shinara announced that she’d booked a side trip to visit Pokhara, a popular lakeside city six hours from Kathmandu. She, Shalini, and Ashwini would be leaving together that evening on an overnight bus. Ashwini protested. She was the type to always show up when she said she would, even if it was to have a drink with a woman whose name she didn’t yet know. Shinara eyed Ashwini skeptically. She knew that her friend liked women, but she wasn’t about to forgo the Pokhara trip for someone Ashwini had just met. Besides, Shinara said, the woman had helped her book the bus tickets—she knew that Ashwini would be leaving that night.

Ashwini relented. On her way out, she went to the front desk to apologize to the manager, but no one was there. A taxi arrived to take Ashwini, Shalini, and Shinara to the bus station, and while loading their bags they asked about return service when they got back to Kathmandu. The driver said that would be no problem and instructed them to call the hostel manager when they arrived so that she could send for him. He gave them the woman’s number.

Ashwini was so relieved that she now had the chance to apologize for her sudden departure that she forgot to ask the driver for the manager’s name. She saved the number under “Oh, Hello.”

The three women boarded the bus, and the streets of Kathmandu soon gave way to a dark, hilly landscape. The screen of Ashwini’s phone glowed as she pulled up the number she’d saved.

Hey, this is Ashwini, she typed into a new chat.

A moment later her phone chimed.

Ashwini who? Should I know who you are?

Ashwini blushed with embarrassment. Then Shree let on that she was joking.

I’m sorry I didn’t stay back today, Ashwini wrote.

It’s OK, Shree replied. They agreed to try meeting up again in a few days, when Ashwini would be back in Kathmandu for 24 hours before her flight home. Then Shree tested the romantic waters. She wasn’t sure Ashwini was gay, but again she figured, why not?

I have a bad habit when I drink, Shree texted. I like to flirt.

OK. Let’s flirt with the whole town. Let’s paint the town red, Ashwini texted back.

Shree sighed. Subtlety was not going to work apparently. She tried again.

Especially with girls, she wrote.

Sunk down low in her bus seat, Ashwini felt her chest tighten with excitement. Only a few days earlier, she had told her parents to begin the process of an arranged marriage. Years of running away from her sexual orientation had left her exhausted. Shree’s words sent a jolt of energy through her.

Ashwini recalled something that had happened earlier that day. She’d visited the Pashupatinath Temple on the banks of the Bagmati River, where devotees and pilgrims gather to offer prayers and seek blessings from Pashupati, a manifestation of Shiva. The space was adorned with intricate wood carvings and golden spires. The heady fragrance of incense hung in the air. A priest had instructed her in sankalpa, which he translated as making a wish.

Ashwini had hesitated to complete the ritual. She believed in God, but she could never bring herself to pray for anything. Who was she to make requests when God knew what was best for her? But when she put her forehead to the ground in the temple, she felt a desire welling up inside. God, she prayed, once in my lifetime, I want to experience love the way it should feel.

Now, staring at her phone on the bus, she thought that this was her chance, maybe the only one she would get before returning home and getting married. She typed back: When did I say I have a problem with that?

Something was happening with Shree, something she hadn’t experienced before, and she wouldn’t walk away from it when it had barely begun.

When Ashwini returned to Kathmandu, she and Shree shared a scooter to a café. Ashwini drove while Shree sat on the back and held Ashwini’s waist. Shree was struck by the scent of Ashwini’s perfume—it was fresh and clean. I could smell this forever, she thought.

Ashwini inundated Shree with questions during the ride. When Ashwini learned that Shree was only 23, she balked a little inside. Ashwini was 29. Surely the six-year age gap meant that Shree was too young for them to have much in common. But when they sat down to a lunch of steamed momos, Shree talked about her grandparents and how much she loved spending time with them. She seemed mature beyond her years.

As the two women got to know each other, an unfamiliar giddiness spread through Ashwini’s body like a fizzy drink. It all felt so natural. She wasn’t reeling off a scripted version of what she thought she should be saying. She was just being herself.

Evening descended, and the women made their way to a bar near the hostel. As they sipped their drinks, two local men came over to say hello to Shree. Soon after, Ashwini’s sister and friend walked in. The sight of Ashwini at a table with Shree and two unfamiliar men made them uneasy. Ashwini was relatively well-off, visiting a poor country. What if these locals were planning to take advantage of her somehow? Shalini and Shinara called Ashwini over and voiced their concern: What did Shree want, exactly?

“Relax,” Ashwini told them. “I spent the day with her. She’s different.”

Only a few tables away, Shree could hear the women arguing, and she walked over to them. “Hey, guys,” she interrupted, “I think I’m going to call it a night.” She politely excused herself and walked out.

Ashwini rushed into the street and found Shree a few blocks away. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I want to apologize for my friends’ behavior.”

“Stop,” Shree said. She told Ashwini that she hadn’t left the bar because she was angry. She was glad that Ashwini had people who cared about her enough to look out for her. But she didn’t like drama, and she had to work in the morning. So she said goodnight. Ashwini returned to the bar. It was now midnight, and her plane home was departing at 5:30 that morning. Ashwini decided that she wouldn’t be on it.

“Listen,” she said to Shalini and Shinara. “I’m not going back to India.”

The other women erupted. “What nonsense!” said Shalini. “You don’t just fall in love with somebody in a foreign country. You think I will leave you here and go back home?”

Ashwini was adamant. She’d spent years overthinking every decision in her life, but in that moment her brain was quiet. She knew that she wanted to stay. Something was happening with Shree, something she hadn’t experienced before, and she wouldn’t walk away from it when it had barely begun. Even just a few more days might be enough to bring the picture into focus, for better or worse.

The following day, Ashwini greeted Shree at the front desk and explained that she hadn’t boarded her flight. “If I stay here for five days, will you hang out with me?” she asked.

A mixture of excitement and disbelief washed over Shree. This woman was rearranging her life to get to know her. She was touched, and she wanted to say yes, but she couldn’t take time off with so little notice. Instead, she agreed to see Ashwini before and after work.

For the next five days, they spent all of Shree’s free time together. Shree brought breakfast to Ashwini’s room each morning, and Ashwini explored the city during the day. When Shree clocked out, they’d meet at a restaurant and spend hours roaming the labyrinthine alleys of Thamel. They talked about past relationships, family, and their religious beliefs, connecting over their shared Hindu culture.

Ashwini was struck that Shree didn’t seem to hide any facet of herself. It made Ashwini feel her own inhibitions more keenly than ever. When Shree reached for her hand at a restaurant, Ashwini reflexively pulled away. She was unsure of the local laws, she explained, and wasn’t comfortable with public displays of affection.

At the end of the five days, Ashwini left Nepal with her thoughts in turmoil. A safe but passionless future awaited her in India; Shree represented the opposite. But she’d told Shree, “You deserve someone who can hold your hand in public and not be shy about it.” Ashwini didn’t know if she could be that person, no matter how much she wanted to.

Now 1,100 miles apart, the two women texted and called each other incessantly. Shree wanted more. She knew that Ashwini was on the cusp of an arranged marriage, which had already cost Shree one relationship. “I like you,” she told Ashwini after a few weeks. “But if it’s a no, that’s fine. We should stop talking right now.”

Ashwini wasn’t sure what to do. She knew the risks she faced: Walking away from an arranged marriage would almost certainly require coming out to her parents, and once her orientation was no longer a secret, who knew what kind of condemnation or rejection she might face—personal, professional, or otherwise? Plus, she would have to learn to accept herself for who she was. The alternative, however, was a life without Shree.

A few days after Ashwini’s 30th birthday, she video-called Shree. Looking at Shree’s face, she knew that she was ready to make the leap. Ashwini asked Shree to be her girlfriend.

A Threat and a Promise

In August 2018, Shree visited Ashwini in India. Ashwini worried how they would mesh in her home environment, particularly when easygoing Shree saw how driven she was in her career. But having Shree in her apartment felt natural. The women discovered that they both loved to cook, and they spent many evenings delving into new recipes. When they dined out, they dissected the ingredients of dishes and strategized how they might re-create them at home. Shree listened to Ashwini talk about her work and offered advice and encouragement. The two women discussed moving in together, but Ashwini couldn’t find a good job in Nepal, and Shree’s family had discouraged her from moving to India while same-sex relationships remained illegal there.

Then, the month after Shree’s visit, responding to petitions requesting a review of its earlier ruling, the Indian Supreme Court unanimously struck down Section 377. Intercourse between adults of the same sex was no longer illegal. “Criminalizing carnal intercourse is irrational, arbitrary, and manifestly unconstitutional,” said justice Dipak Misra as he delivered the decision. Outside the courthouse, LGBTQ+ advocates hugged and cheered. Two months later, Shree quit her job at the hostel, left Nepal, and moved into Ashwini’s apartment. She found work at a nearby motorcycle shop.

Despite the court’s decision, Ashwini was nervous about living with Shree. India remained a conservative country, and Ashwini worried about being rejected or ostracized if she came out. She introduced Shree to her parents as her roommate and avoided having coworkers and acquaintances visit her at home. When the housecleaner came, Ashwini told Shree, “Don’t be in the same room as me. Don’t be too close with me. Behave like we are friends.”

Shree found herself tiptoeing around her own home. “I was so scared in the beginning,” she said. She had come to India for Ashwini but felt like she was being asked to hide who she was. “All the time we were together in Bangalore, we never held hands in public,” Shree said. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

Still, Shree was patient and forgiving by nature. She remembered stories of people who’d been disowned for coming out to their families. She knew how much Ashwini’s family and career meant to her. “Each of us has our own coming-out journey,” she told Ashwini. “Just because we are together, it doesn’t have to accelerate yours. Whatever your journey is, all I’m asking is to go with you.”

Ashwini wanted to lead an open life someday, but in the meantime there was a more pressing matter: Her parents still wanted to find her a husband. When she’d returned from her trip to Nepal, she’d informed them that she’d changed her mind about arranged marriage. She wasn’t ready to tell them about Shree, so instead she took aim at the institution itself. “Marriage is bullshit,” she told her parents. “Half of them end in divorce. I make a good income and don’t want to risk getting stuck paying alimony to some man.” As Ashwini tried to bury the topic, she considered her parents’ ages. They were in their late sixties. Perhaps they’d be gone before the real reason for her resistance became apparent. The thought brought a guilt-tinged sense of relief.

Ashwini’s parents were bewildered by her sudden hostility toward marriage. They broached the topic whenever she visited, so over time she saw them less and less. One day her mom asked her to meet for coffee. It was an unusual request—Ashwini didn’t drink coffee—but she agreed. The two women barely spoke as they sipped their beverages. It was only when Ashwini was driving them home that her mom opened up. She spoke about an older woman in their family who had never found a partner and now lived in lonely solitude. “I worry about that for you,” she said. Ashwini’s mom turned her gaze out the car window. “I’m not asking you to get married because I’m worried about what our friends say or what society says,” she continued. “I’m asking because I don’t want you to grow old without companionship. I want you to have what I’ve found with your father.”

Ashwini had always been on the move, always striving, always running away from herself. Shree was teaching her how to embrace stillness and be comfortable in her own skin.

I have that already, Ashwini thought.

“You’ve got to give me a reason,” her mom said. “You can’t just say you don’t want to get married.”

Silence hung in the air. They had already reached the house, but Ashwini continued driving around a nearby lake. They could go in circles forever, Ashwini thought, or she could jump off the ledge she was standing on. “It’s because I don’t like boys,” she said at last. Another long pause followed before her mom asked, “Are you trying to tell me you like girls?”

“Yes,” Ashwini said.

And then she told her mom about Shree. Once the words began, they tumbled out. Ashwini talked about how hard the years of secrecy and shame had been, how she’d even considered taking her own life, and how everything had changed when she heard Shree’s voice at the hostel in Kathmandu. Ashwini had always been on the move, always striving, always running away from herself. Shree was teaching her how to embrace stillness and be comfortable in her own skin. “I feel like I can breathe now,” Ashwini said.

Ashwini’s mom asked her to drive to a nearby store. She went in, bought three pairs of shoes, and got back in the car. Ashwini, still reeling from her confession, waited for a reaction, but none came. “Mom, I just shared the most intimate part of my life,” Ashwini said. “Do you have anything to tell me?”

“I’m not saying anything because my blood pressure is very high right now, and I can feel that I need my medicine,” her mother replied. “Can you drive me home?” She didn’t say another word until they’d walked inside. Then her mother turned to Ashwini and said, “Don’t tell Dad anything. Let me break it to him.”

Ashwini didn’t sleep that night. The next day her dad called. “Your mom told me something very big,” he said. He invited her over for lunch. When she arrived, he began to talk about one of his favorite Bollywood actors, who had come out in support of the transgender community. He mentioned how, in Mumbai, trans people have a prominent place in some cultural traditions. He also talked about how hard their lives could be.

Ashwini struggled to follow where the conversation was heading. “Dad, get to the point,” she interrupted. He looked at her directly. “Did we miss something biologically when you were born?” he asked.

Ashwini realized that he was confused, that he thought she might not identify as a woman. “Dad, I’m just a girl like any other girl, but I like girls. This is just who I am,” she said. She explained that before she met Shree, she felt like she would have been happy with only a fraction of the devotion he and her mother shared. But with Shree, she had found all of it. Now she couldn’t settle for anything less.

Her father’s eyes seemed to soften, and Ashwini sensed that she had connected with him. “You’ve been the perfect daughter,” he said. She had excelled in her education and career. Other parents in the neighborhood told him that they wanted a daughter like Ashwini.

Then her father dashed her hopes. “All the right you’ve done has been made wrong with this one thing,” he said. “I’m never going to be OK with it.”

Ashwini left the house in tears. She had always been close to her dad. “He was my hero all my life. He was my go-to guy. And I didn’t have him this time,” she said. “That really, really hurt me.”

Despite how they’d reacted, Ashwini stayed in contact with her parents. When she tried to discuss anything related to the LGBTQ+ community, they looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language. But grappling with a gap in understanding was better than not seeing her family at all—Ashwini loved her parents and didn’t want to lose them.

Shree and Ashwini continued living together while hiding their relationship from most people. Then one evening, while Ashwini was home alone getting ready to go to a friend’s party, there was a knock at the door. She opened it to find two men in plain clothes, one holding a notebook. They introduced themselves as police officers and pelted her with questions: What company do you work for? Where is your office? What is your phone number?

“Why do you need this information?” Ashwini asked. They gave a vague answer about crime in the neighborhood. Cold dread spread through her body. Why were they really there? Were they even police officers? Two of her male friends had come out to her a few years earlier, and they’d told her stories about harassment: how people showed up at gay Indians’ homes pretending to be police or media, gathered information, then threatened to expose them to their employers and families, sometimes extorting them for money. Ashwini’s tech job and the upscale neighborhood she lived in made her a target.

She knew she could ask for the men’s IDs to verify that they were law enforcement. She also knew that in India male officers must have a female officer present to approach a woman after 6 p.m.—she could ask the men to leave and return with a female colleague. But Ashwini was rooted to the floor in fear, and any words of reproach were stuck in her throat. She tried to appear casual as she answered the men’s questions.

When they asked, “What about the girl who lives with you?” her heart sank. Ashwini hadn’t told her landlord about Shree. How did these men know? Ashwini gave the strangers a few basic details, and finally they turned to go. “Be safe,” one of them said. The words hung in the air as Ashwini closed the door.

Ashwini went to her friend’s party, but her mind was miles away. She tried to smile and make small talk, but her unease grew as scenarios played out in her mind. Eventually, the roar of anxiety in her head drowned out the music and conversation. Without saying goodbye, she walked out the door and drove home to Shree.

Ashwini woke Shree up when she arrived. The two women spoke in hushed voices as they discussed the encounter and what it meant for them. They had attracted the wrong kind of attention; the apartment no longer felt safe. The front door was bolted, but the presence of the men seemed to lurk just beyond it. How long would it be before they returned?

Shree felt especially vulnerable—she had come to India alone, with Ashwini as her sole support system. “I don’t feel free here,” she said. The words unsettled Ashwini, and she felt a strong sense of guilt. The women sat next to each other in heavy silence. Then Shree asked, “Do you think our lives would be different in a country that accepts us?”

As if the universe had heard Shree’s question, the next day Ashwini learned that her company was hiring for a position similar to hers in California. Suddenly, moving to another country—one where same-sex relationships were legal—felt like a real possibility. Ashwini interviewed for the job and got it.

Ashwini and Shree came up with a plan: After Ashwini left for the United States, Shree would pack up their apartment in India and return to Nepal to begin the process of obtaining a U.S. visa. At the same time, Ashwini would find an apartment for them in San Francisco. They hoped to reunite in about a month.

Before her departure, Ashwini and Shree celebrated Ashwini’s birthday with friends who knew about their relationship. One of them persuaded Shree to wear a dress to the party despite her preference for more casual clothes. After everyone gave gifts to Ashwini, the guests told Shree it was her turn—not to give a present, but to receive one. They pulled her to the center of the room and had her close her eyes. When she opened them, Ashwini was kneeling in front of her holding a watch engraved with the words “Marry me.”

“Srijana Khatri,” Ashwini said, “you had me at ‘Oh, hello.’ ”

Shree hesitated for only a moment. Being the center of attention made her want to run, but she didn’t have any doubts about her love for Ashwini. Shree said yes. They would start their new life together, engaged, in San Francisco.

The couple knew little about the city. Shree had heard from guests at the hostel in Kathmandu that it was an open-minded place. And Ashwini was aware that the Bay Area was a hub for technology and innovation. The only concrete thing they could picture was the Golden Gate Bridge, and once they’d decided to move, it seemed to be everywhere. Magnets depicting the bridge already adorned their fridge, souvenirs from Ashwini’s colleagues who’d visited the U.S. On their coffee table sat a book of photography—a gift from a friend—with the bridge on its cover.

The structure came to symbolize the life they would soon be building together. Shree urged Ashwini to visit the Golden Gate once she’d arrived in San Francisco, but that didn’t feel right to Ashwini. She wanted to see it for the first time when they were side by side. She vowed to wait until they were together again.

The Separation

Ashwini moved in January 2020. She stayed in downtown San Francisco while hunting for an apartment. On weekends she took in the local sights—the Ferry Building, Lombard Street, the city’s Museum of Modern Art—but never the Golden Gate Bridge. Meanwhile, in Nepal, Shree discovered that she needed a letter from the motorcycle shop where she’d worked in India confirming her employment. She returned to India in mid-March to get the letter, only packing enough clothes for the two nights she planned to crash on a friend’s couch. She hoped that the short setback wouldn’t delay her reunion with Ashwini.

By then news of COVID-19 was sweeping the globe, as the virus wormed its way through China, Europe, and the U.S. Before long it was everywhere. In San Francisco, shelter-in-place orders were announced on March 16, closing all but essential businesses. In India, Shree had already checked in for her return flight to Nepal when the Indian government sealed the borders and restricted movement inside the country. She was trapped.

Shree felt angry. She had left her job, her family, her country for Ashwini. Now she was stuck in India while her fiancée was thousands of miles away. She felt like she had nowhere to turn. Where would she stay until flights resumed? Even friends were cautious about letting anyone but immediate family into their homes.

As she sheltered in San Francisco, Ashwini felt helpless. All she could do was make a list of every hotel and hostel in her old neighborhood and call them one by one to see if they had space for Shree. The hotels weren’t accepting new guests; the hostels were asking current ones to leave.

She’d hit dead end after dead end when Ashwini received a call from her parents. Their relationship remained strained; her decision to move to California hadn’t helped. But her parents knew that Shree was stranded in their city, and they asked Ashwini if she had a place to stay. Ashwini replied that she was figuring it out, but they weren’t satisfied with her answer. “That girl trusted you and came to Bangalore. You’re responsible for her safety, and you’re not here,” her mother said. “So, by virtue of being your family, we are responsible for her safety. Ask her to move in with us.”

Ashwini was stunned. She knew how meaningful it was for her parents to invite Shree into their home. She ran the idea past Shree, who was dubious. “This is the craziest thing we’ve done yet,” Shree said. But there were no other options.

When Shree showed up at the house with nothing but her backpack, Ashwini’s parents welcomed her with cool politeness. They were fond of the kind, considerate young woman they’d known as their daughter’s roommate. Now that Shree was engaged to Ashwini, they weren’t sure how to act around her—a living reminder of their daughter’s sexual orientation was sitting on their couch, using their bath, sharing a room with Shalini. “At least for two weeks, all of us were very awkward,” Shree told me.

Shree made a strong effort to connect with her hosts. Ashwini’s parents were older and particularly vulnerable to COVID, so Shree helped with the shopping and other errands. She cooked for the family, making momos and other Nepalese dishes part of the household’s meal rotation. She practiced yoga with Shalini to stay active. She ate lunch with Ashwini’s father and shared tea with her mother as the evening shadows lengthened.

Shree also began accompanying Ashwini’s mother to the local Hindu temple, which remained open for worship. It was a 20-minute walk away. “She would talk and I would listen,” Shree said. “She really liked that.” Shree also spoke at length with Shalini, who had been wary of her ever since Ashwini had chosen to stay behind on the girls’ trip to Nepal. Sharing her room with Shree, Shalini’s perception shifted. “We started to see each other in our own light,” Shalini said. “I got to find out more about her, her past, what she likes, her principles, her beliefs, and she got to see those things in me.”

Most important, Shalini recognized Shree’s devotion to her sister. She saw how they balanced each other and carved out spaces in their lives for their relationship every single day. She saw in their sacrifices expressions of love. Soon she was joking with Shree, “Come on, you can do better than my sister.”

India’s ban on air travel was extended week after week. When the government began allowing some flights, tickets were hard to come by and prices were exorbitant. Shree’s brief stay of a few weeks turned into ten months. It wasn’t until January 2021 that she was able to return to Nepal and resume her visa application process.

Saying goodbye to Ashwini’s family was bittersweet, because they’d come to accept Shree as part of their lives. “She’s very compassionate,” her mother told Ashwini one day. “She’s very smart.” Shalini had grown to care about Shree like a second sister. “I’ve always said that while Ashwini fell in love with Shree, I chose to make Shree my family,” Shalini said.

Ashwini found that avoiding the Golden Gate Bridge was no easy task. San Francisco is compact and hilly. The bridge rises 746 feet above the bay; on a clear day you can glimpse its distinctive towers peeking above the skyline from almost anywhere. Ashwini navigated the city with determined precision, keeping vigilant track of where the bridge stood in relation to her and avoiding vantages that might be intruded upon by its iconic silhouette.

Ashwini moved from one short-term apartment to another before she found a permanent place in Pleasanton, about an hour outside the city. She was in no danger of seeing the bridge from there, but sometimes she had to drive into San Francisco for client appointments. When she crossed the Bay Bridge between Oakland and San Francisco, about ten miles east of the Golden Gate, she focused on the car in front of her so she wouldn’t see the bridge out the passenger-side window. When she started a hiking group with friends, she avoided outings in places where the bridge might be visible.

Ashwini and Shree never expected their separation to last as long as it did. In Nepal, Shree’s visa appointment was postponed again and again. She worked at the hostel to make ends meet. Ashwini visited her twice, staying a month each time. They rented a furnished apartment together, shopped for groceries, cooked paneer and curries, and watched cricket on the couch, with Shree explaining the intricacies of the sport to Ashwini. They playacted at normal life. Then Ashwini had to go.

During her second visit, Ashwini’s parents also traveled to Nepal to meet Shree’s family. Everyone gathered at Shree’s aunt’s house for an enormous lunch and then sat in the living room to talk. Although they spoke different languages, the two families managed to communicate through gestures and expressions. Afterward, everyone retired to various rooms for a nap. “Shree and I were in a cousin’s room,” said Ashwini. “We were just lying on the bed, looking at the mountains, thinking, ‘Can you believe that our families are having an afternoon siesta together under the same roof?’ We were in disbelief.”

Everyone went to temple that evening. Before they parted ways, Shree’s mother asked her to translate a question for Ashwini’s parents: “Ask them if they like my daughter.” Ashwini’s father answered simply: “She is also our daughter.” They were words neither Shree nor Ashwini ever imagined they’d hear.

Days later, Shree quit her job at the hostel when her employer asked her to work instead of taking her scheduled vacation time while Ashwini was still visiting. It was a principled stand, but a foolhardy one: Her long-awaited visa appointment was coming up in a few months, and being unemployed could be seen as evidence of financial instability, diminishing her chances of getting government approval to spend time in the U.S. It didn’t matter that Ashwini could support her, because they weren’t yet legally related.

“I thank God every day that you have given all of your love to me. You have moved mountains for our love.”

Ashwini called the lawyer working with her and Shree. “What if she were my wife?” Ashwini asked. The lawyer confirmed that this would help at the appointment. It would be best if they married in an English-speaking country, so that the paperwork wouldn’t need to be translated.

Ashwini went back to the U.S. and put together a spreadsheet. She found 30-some countries that had legalized same-sex marriage. Only a handful allowed foreigners to marry there, and of those, there were three English-speaking countries that seemed like a good fit: the UK, Australia, and Canada. Ashwini was hopeful that Canada would work, but she discovered that the wait for a visitor visa could be as long as six months. Her shoulders slumped with defeat, and she returned to the drawing board.

Then a friend she hadn’t heard from in a while called. As it happened, the friend was in Los Angeles waiting to board a flight to Australia, where several of her Indian family members would be joining her. She said it had been easy to get them all visas. It only took a week, and it didn’t require going to a consulate or embassy—everything could be done online. Ashwini rushed to her computer.

In less than a month, both Shree and Ashwini had visitor visas for Australia. They arrived down under in March 2023 and were married on a beach south of Sydney, with only their photographer, a videographer, an officiant, and a local friend in attendance. Rain had darkened the skies throughout the preceding week, but the sun emerged on their wedding day, casting a warm glow over the turquoise waves. Both of them wore tailored pantsuits: Shree’s was powder pink, Ashwini’s dark teal.

Standing hand in hand in the sand, they said their vows. “The road to today has been a long and arduous one,” Ashwini told Shree. “I’m forever grateful for your love, patience, and trust. On this beautiful sunny day, with the mighty Pacific Ocean as my witness, I promise you that I will not rest until we get you home where you belong with me.”

In return, Shree said, “Today I want to start by telling how much I love you. And I thank God every day that you have given all of your love to me. You have moved mountains for our love.” As the officiant pronounced them wife and wife, they kissed and then raised their arms and cheered.

A month later, Shree arrived at the U.S. embassy in Kathmandu and sat down for her visa appointment. She was applying as a dependent rather than a visitor. Nervous about saying anything that might hurt her chances of getting approved, she’d reviewed a long list of questions that might come up. But the official only asked three things: What does your spouse do? When did you get married? Do you have some photographs? After looking at the photos, he said, “OK, you’re approved.”

Shree thought she must have misunderstood. She and Ashwini had withstood bigotry, three years of COVID lockdowns, countless long-distance calls, and a seemingly endless wait broken up by only the briefest of reunions. Surely the end of that saga would involve more than three simple questions.

“Did you say approved?” Shree asked.

“Yes,” the official said, already shuffling aside Shree’s paperwork for his next appointment. “You can collect your document from the bank in about a week.”

The Bridge

Shree landed at San Francisco International Airport in June 2023. Ashwini picked her up and they drove north on highway 101, straight to the Golden Gate Bridge.

They wore matching gray tees that read “Love Wins” in rainbow-colored cursive. As they approached the bridge, they pulled off at Crissy Field and spread out a picnic blanket. Ashwini had packed a San Francisco–themed lunch of avocado toast on sourdough bread. They clinked plastic cups of sparkling water together and looked up at the expanse of steel stretched before them.

A bank of fog hung low over the Marin Headlands in the distance, and they zipped up their jackets against the late-spring chill. Ashwini thought about the massive feat of engineering that had brought the bridge into being. Perhaps, with modern tools and technology, it wouldn’t be so hard to build it today. But in the 1930s, the endeavor had taken steadfast vision to overcome years of obstacles and setbacks. Ashwini’s journey to be with Shree felt similar—they’d navigated delays and discouragement to reach a goal that at times felt like little more than fantasy.

Later that summer, the Supreme Court of Nepal allowed provisional registration of same-sex marriages while it considered a case on the matter. (The court has yet to issue its ruling.) Meanwhile, the Indian Supreme Court was weighing a similar decision. The oral arguments in that case had occurred in April and May, and Ashwini had followed the proceedings online. She heard the petitioners argue about why marriage equality mattered and realized that they were expressing ideas she’d never been able to articulate. She remembered the night when the two men who might have been police came to her apartment. “I had this dirty feeling in my stomach. I could not describe what that feeling was,” she told me. “When I was listening to the arguments, I finally found the words. What I felt that night was that I was stripped of my dignity. It was so unacceptable for me.”(In October 2023, the Supreme Court rejected the petitioners’ case; as of this writing, same-sex marriage remains illegal in India.)

The desire to reject indignity was what prompted Ashwini to embark on “this adventure,” as she sometimes refers to what followed, with the woman she now calls her wife. Sitting in Crissy Field, Ashwini smiled at Shree.

“What do you think of the Golden Gate Bridge?” she asked.

“It’s very pretty,” Shree replied.

Neither of them were looking at the bridge.

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