Portrait by Moana Mika

On one side, there's Annette: full of energy and warmth. When she speaks, vivid images pour out. She's constantly brimming with new ideas — like wanting to redesign the garden, again and again. Then there's Tomi: calm and grounded. He thinks before he speaks, choosing his words with care. Annette dreams; Tomi makes things happen. She picks up the clay and shapes it into bowls, plates, and mugs — all used in their kitchen. He grabs the shovel and transforms the garden. Tomi loves being outdoors, often hiking with their dog Milow. He still talks about one foggy hike that felt almost mystical.

And then, there’s the virus: Annette has been living with HIV for 36 years. Tomi does not. “I think I’ve just always really trusted her,” he says.

Annette and Tomi are warm, welcoming people. Their kitchen is cozy. Out the window, fields stretch toward the edge of a forest. It’s drizzling outside. The trees are bare, the barbecue packed away for the season. First, there’s coffee. Later, Tomi brings out dessert.

They met in a bar in Zurich in the summer of 2000. Tomi says he was drawn to her immediately. “She was already such a strong woman. I liked that,” he recalls. “And you were so shy! Hiding behind your brother, even though you were taller than him,” Annette teases with a laugh. Tomi laughs too. They look at each other, their eyes sparkling.

Tomi doesn’t remember exactly when he learned that Annette had HIV. “I guess it didn’t matter to me,” he says. He was never afraid of getting infected. “I’ve always trusted her,” he repeats. Annette, however, was afraid — deeply afraid of passing the virus to him. “It wasn’t until around 2006 that there were good medications to suppress my viral load. That was such a relief. Because where there’s no virus, there’s no transmission,” she explains. That relief gave them a new kind of freedom: in 2007, their child was born. “The best thing that ever happened to us,” says Annette. Two years later, the family moved to the countryside — into a cooperative house with a cozy kitchen and a view of the fields. “The first time we came here, it felt like we were on vacation,” Tomi says.

A child, a home, a garden — for Annette and Tomi, none of that is taken for granted. Annette was in her late twenties when she lay in a hospice, with no HIV medication she could tolerate. “It was a death sentence,” she says. But Annette is strong. And together with Tomi, she found her strength again. Tomi grew up in difficult circumstances, without much of a sense of family. But with Annette, suddenly anything felt possible.

Happy ending? Not quite. Annette still struggles with her health. Sometimes, she has to be rushed to the hospital. Tomi, the steady one, is always there. “Last time Annette was in the hospital, my smartwatch notified me: ‘Your stress level has increased,’” he says with a chuckle. The fear for her never really leaves. And there’s another constant in their lives: stigma and discrimination. “It’s the microaggressions,” says Annette. Like when people ask how she got infected. Tomi, too, has faced prejudice. “Some people in my circle tried to stop the relationship early on,” he says. “‘You’re crazy,’ they told me.”

Outside, it’s still drizzling. But Milow, the dog, doesn’t care — he needs to go out. Tomi sighs and gets up, Annette clears the dishes. The dog wags his tail excitedly. And what are Annette and Tomi looking forward to? “We’ll soon be going to Paris for a few days,” says Annette. Tomi grins at her and teases: “And after that, you’ll have new garden plans, for sure.” They laugh together. And once more, that sparkle returns to their eyes.