They say love is patient. But no one tells you what happens when patience runs out and the only option left is to become fugitives.

September 2021. Twenty months since that airport goodbye. Twenty months of grainy video calls, frozen smiles, and the kind of loneliness that comes from loving someone you can't touch. The world had reopened for everyone except us — an American and a Cuban with borders locked tight and no end in sight.

So we stopped asking for permission.

The plan was simple on paper: find a country where we could both enter visa-free during a pandemic. The problem? That list was shorter than the list of things you can buy with a handful of Cuban pesos. Belarus became our crack in the door. Obscure. Visa-free. Perfect.

Except nothing about our love heist goes according to plan.

Eribel, flying for the first time in his life, navigated Russian immigration alone — and nearly lost everything at the checkpoint. I booked the most chaotic itinerary imaginable: New York to Brussels to Madrid to Tel Aviv to Minsk. Five countries. Two days. And a "Peace of Mind Protection Plan" that was about to be tested.

Then Tel Aviv happened. A deep security search. An airport escort making sure I didn't run. And no way to reach Eribel, who was waiting on the other side, wondering if I'd ever arrive.

Was this the end of the road? Or just the most insane detour ever?

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