I boarded the final flight to propose to my girlfriend, no matter how far she was across the world.

Should I stay in Cairo with my family, or catch the last flight to Canada to be with the love of my life? I had to make a quick decision, but the thought of traveling during the pandemic felt like a death sentence—or worse, murder.

As Covid-19 spread globally, I felt that no place was truly safe, and self-isolation seemed like the only sensible choice. Yet, when it comes to love, you end up doing some pretty irrational things.

I’m a Canadian-Egyptian in love with Francesca Brundisini, an Italian-American who’s doing a postdoc in Quebec City. She’s new to the area and worried that being alone without any family or friends would make things worse if she caught the virus.

When the pandemic news hit, we both understood it wasn’t going to blow over in just a few weeks. The distance, the uncertainty, and the frantic calls from her Italian mother—worried sick back in Italy—finally pushed me to take action.

There was no certainty that I’d find a flight, and the thought of leaving my family behind weighed heavily on me.

Both of my parents are in their 60s and have multiple health issues, including diabetes and heart problems. Leaving them behind could mean the heartbreaking possibility of never seeing them again.

They urged me to search for a flight, partly out of concern for my partner being alone in Canada, but also because we all assumed finding a seat on a plane would be nearly impossible.

Racing against time to secure a seat.

I took a leap of faith and added my name to EgyptAir's waiting list for a direct flight to Toronto, hoping for a miracle. I figured the only way I’d be heading home was if Canada sent a plane to rescue its stranded citizens.

Against all odds, just hours before the airport shut down, I received a call confirming my seat on the last flight to Canada.

I rushed to EgyptAir’s office in Cairo’s Korba district to secure my ticket. As I was leaving, I noticed a jewelry store nearby. It seemed absurd that such a non-essential business was still open, but it felt like fate knew I needed something from it.

On my way home, I saw Egypt’s military forces mobilizing across the city—an unmistakable sign that a curfew was likely imminent.

The memories of the mandatory curfews during Egypt’s uprisings came flooding back. Yet, in this surreal moment, these harsh measures offered a strange sense of reassurance, knowing they would help curb the spread of the virus.

A heartfelt farewell.

I reached the airport and shared a long hug with both my parents, praying it wouldn’t be the last time.

Overcome with emotion, I entered the terminal, bracing for chaos. To my surprise, the airport was eerily deserted.

Before the pandemic, Cairo Airport was teeming with life as tourism had started to rebound following the political and social turmoil after Egypt’s uprisings.

I’d seen Cairo’s airport empty before, but never in such a stark and unsettling way.

There was no line at the first security checkpoint. Across the airport, most workers wore masks and sometimes gloves, but not everyone. I spotted a few workers handling luggage carts who were unprotected.

When I reached the check-in counters, I was informed that this was the final flight to Canada. No other flights were being processed at that moment, and the lack of departures made it easier to practice social distancing.

After checking in, there were no lines at security, and the terminal was sparsely populated with a few employees and travelers.

Walking through the vast, empty corridors—sometimes without a soul in sight—felt like stepping into a post-apocalyptic film, waiting for a horde of infected zombies to appear around the corner.

At no point did anyone check my temperature, nor was I asked about any symptoms.

I later found out from a relative who flew back to Egypt on the same flight that temperature checks were being done upon arrival at Cairo Airport.

The boarding line was uncomfortably packed. Most passengers were masked and covered, their anxiousness only visible in their eyes.

Those who went without masks were either elderly or young, both seemingly unaffected by the looming crisis.

The longest flight I’ve ever endured.

Boarding for MS995 was completed in record time, but the departure was frustratingly delayed.

Two passengers refused to sit by the toilets. After an unsuccessful attempt to change seats, they eventually gave up their tickets on the final flight out.

Every decision on this journey felt like a matter of life or death, and being seated next to the bathroom on a fully-booked flight seemed to increase the risk of infection.

The only worse scenario would have been sitting next to someone showing symptoms—which, unfortunately, is exactly where I found myself.

Sitting between a 72-year-old mother and her 38-year-old daughter, I quickly offered them both hand sanitizer.

The mother wore a mask but had a runny nose and a cough, while the daughter in the aisle seat didn’t bother with any protective gear and seemed unfazed by the risks of travel.

No passenger on board could have predicted the whirlwind of decisions made that week. It felt as though everyone was scrambling for a flight.

"I thought the borders would close in Canada, not Egypt, but Egypt beat Canada to it," the mother explained.

As the mother described her frustrating experience of trying to find tickets, she mentioned that their efforts to get help from the consulate had failed. The daughter, however, believed that visiting the EgyptAir office in person was the key to securing seats.

"I found out that many people on the previous flight had been turned away because they weren’t Canadian. So, there were empty seats on that flight, and I figured we should head to the office and get on the waiting list... When we got the tickets, it felt like we had hit the jackpot," the daughter explained.

Throughout the flight, I felt tense, as every cough reminded me that the invisible threat could be sitting right next to me. I asked the mother how she was feeling, but she reassured me that she was fine.

"I just caught a cold a few days ago and checked the symptoms. But they say it doesn’t start with a runny nose, it starts with a dry cough. Just don’t tell anyone—I don’t want them to send me back," she begged.

I wondered if she was taking the flight because she felt safer in Canada, but she clarified, saying, "I don’t think Ottawa is safer than Cairo, I just want to be home with my daughters and grandchildren."

The main reason for my journey was to be with the one I love, but I would never have boarded the flight if I had been showing symptoms.

Touching down in Toronto

I arrived in Toronto expecting the airport to be packed with Canadians returning from all corners of the world, after Prime Minister Justin Trudeau had called on citizens abroad to return home.

To my surprise, the airport was just as deserted as Cairo’s. As we disembarked, a few security officers were handing out flyers reminding travelers to self-isolate for two weeks.

At customs, they casually asked if I had any symptoms, but once again, there were no temperature checks or other screenings. Perhaps they had some hidden thermal cameras, but as a Canadian, I worried that these precautions weren’t enough.

The only line I had to stand in at the airport wasn’t for customs, security, or health checks, but at a coffee shop. When I finally reached the cashier, I was disheartened to see that none of the employees were wearing masks.

With seven hours before my next flight, I decided to roam the airport and came across a medical clinic.

I inquired with the receptionist about the availability of a Covid-19 test. Their eyes widened in surprise, and they informed me that they didn’t offer one but gave me a number to call if any symptoms appeared.

As I roamed around the airport, I expected the crowd to increase. However, by midday, only a few travelers were scattered across the terminal.

‘I worked here during SARS,’ one of the airport security officers shared, ‘but even back then, the airport was never this deserted.’

Proposing quarantine

The Quebec City flight was only half full, which meant most passengers could claim an entire row to themselves.

When I landed, there was still no screening process in place. I had flown from Cairo to Quebec City in the midst of a global pandemic, yet no one checked my health status.

By the time I arrived, more than a thousand people had succumbed to Covid-19, and the global death toll had crossed 10,000.

When Francesca finally showed up, I surprised her by sneaking up from behind, dropping to one knee, and proposing.

She was completely taken aback, as just 48 hours earlier, she had no idea when, or if, she would ever see me again, let alone expect a proposal.

She said yes, we took off our masks, and sealed the moment with a long, passionate kiss.

I was overjoyed that she said yes—it confirmed that, despite the risks, the journey was worth it. I couldn’t have imagined what I would have done if she had said no, especially since there was no turning back to Egypt.

My fiancée adored the ring and slipped it on her finger, but we both knew the kiss was the true commitment—it meant she was willing to accept the risk of potentially contracting the virus I feared I might be carrying.

When her family and friends in Italy heard the news of our engagement, they overwhelmed us with congratulations. For many of them, this was the first bit of joy they'd received in over a month.

If there’s one thing this crisis taught me, it’s that time is far too fleeting. If I was willing to risk her health, then I had to be ready to make a lifetime commitment to her.

We hope to enjoy each other for more than just the next two weeks, but we both understand that we won't know if the risk of traveling was worth it until our quarantine period is over.

When the world heals, we plan to marry on the island of Giglio in Italy, though it's difficult to predict when that will happen. Until then, our only real goal as a couple is to stay isolated and make it through the quarantine.