I would not have pictured myself penning the intricacies of those magical moments down to such finite details any day, but I have perhaps more reasons than one to think that keeping him as alive in me, as much as I possibly can, is a choice which I couldnt have not made. Well, the lover in me is often a slave to the writer in me, waging a war with my inner self till it gets myself to bleed it’s ink with the tales of its adventures. I thought I had known life, and love and meanings, only to realise later that I lived the life of a long withered twig floating about the course of an aimless wind till I one day swarmed into his arms. As enchanting as it may have been, now, years later, in retrospect I cannot stop thinking that I would have liked it a lot more to have met him in a different world. Somewhere far, somewhere quiet, somewhere from my dreams, somewhere I would not want to return from, somewhere away from the haunt of civilisations and expectations. But here we were, urban nomads, at a posh chinese restaurant, wearing fashionable clothes and speaking more with words than with unsaid syllables of subtle silences and discreet glances like what I always imagined it would be.
I had read volumes about it. Large volumes of all my favourite literature from around the world only seemed to speak relentlessly about the bitter-sweet entanglement that love was to the world. The eccentricities, the vulnerabilities, the longings – I knew all about these that came with this exquisite sickness called love. But, quite reluctantly, I must confess, I did not see it coming to get me when it actually did one afternoon, unannounced and in utter silence and then turned my whole world upside down until he was to finally make my world revolve around his being. Now that I look back, I hate that I cannot remember the mild subtleties of the day – I cannot recall if it was a bright sunny day or a gloomy Monday afternoon, but I do recall tensing up at the passive awareness of a storm that had slowly began to build in me somewhere deep down. Only days later, I found that about myself, it was me, and I was the girl walking into it, smiling as if in a daze. I sometimes look out into the ends of horizon to remember the fine details of the day that do not matter. All I can remember now is how you just stood in the distance, calm and lost in thoughts, looking right back at me as I walked towards to you, beaming and so full of our ruthless wanton charm that has since held me captive.It was only years later that I was to find out, quite disturbingly, that at that very second, at that very instant, not very far from across the table, he was silently following my mind that had begun wandering off boundaries on a dreamy adventure. I did not, and couldn’t have forgiven myself if I looked away for a minute, or a fraction of any fraction of measurable time possible away from your face. For once, I wished to climb in him and see myself through his eyes, and for once feel beautiful.
His eyes soon met my probing eyes halfway and in seconds he was only an inch within my reach and the insides of my brain have been an ecstatic mess since. He reached his long lean fingers to shake hands with my small plump hands, and says a word or two in his husky dreamy voice that I cannot pass a day without hearing anymore. Love caught me off guard, love caught me in a time and space where I was neither prepared nor allowed to love, and to a man I wasn’t fully capable of loving. One thing that you realise about the sheer powerlessness of your will against the plot of your heart is that the heart hears no rationale. It had its ways of getting things done, and it was evidently luring me into loving him more and more, a little more, every day. I was not prepared to be entangled in such infinite madness, with a man who was to take years to see into my soul. But despite my very best efforts, it was too late to escape my predicament, it was too late to be cautious anymore.