“Honey, Hydrogenated and androgynous milky white love is all I have to offer you. Would you like me to pour it in your coffee, or directly into your soul?
” As he ended, she smiled gently, putting the fine streak of her shiny hair back off her endearing face – the delicate gestures he’d always freeze in his memories and heart. Theirs was a different love story. A love story weaved so deeply in a train of emotions, in the tunes of those crispy new strings of his shiny guitar, in the fumes and aroma of those steaming cups of black coffee, in the night’s lullabies, in the morning’s fresh calls, in her carefree laughter, in his scared heart of losing her; it was but a poet’s poem, a writer’s prose and a painter’s master piece. So perfect, so content, so diverse yet so artistic.
The beautiful city, its luxurious lifestyle, hurried lives, those forsaken monuments, flowing water, the shiny sun, that cold breeze, the soothing orchestra, blooming tulips, rushing birds and all along, himself along with her presence, “Darling, you complete me. Just like this half completes the other one”, while travelling in the train, under the orange bed of clouds from that parting sunset and flowing water by the side, he mumbled gently while putting together the two parts of jigsaw puzzle and showing it to her like a little, happy kid.
He was a guy any girl could fall for easily. Handsome, rich, educated and a beautiful combination of charming personality, what did he see in my serious, brainy, sophisticated self, to grab me tightly in his love, get a hold of my fragile heart and be kind of owning power to my delicate soul – in the darkness of silent nights she would usually puzzle her self in these never ending questions. No, it was not insecurity. It was neither distrust nor a fishy mystery. But rather, she would always feel beaming and gratified when ever she would reach the answers and conclusions of these questions, the utter reality, “He belonged to her. She belonged to him. – The content.”
“One thing was certain: he was my one. Most people go on their whole lives and never find their one, but I found mine. I found him when I was only 18-years-old.” At the end of ever query, she would satisfy herself with this note, just like the way a mother satisfy her little kid with a pay back of a gift.
Their love grew the way they did. Running in the corridors of that old college. Bunking classes. Arguing over the fact; “Who’s genius among them?” Silently sneaking in each other’s books in the almost-dead library to see who has got the fastest reading skills. Fighting for a “Garam Samosa”. Intentionally not complimenting each other so as to be the cute-teaser. Laughter. Smiles. Tears. Gossips. Though he was a year older than her, but he always managed to be with her, match the shoe along and tie the belt together. They actually cherished their dream-come-true-love-life in those few years which were spent in the college’s diaries.
It’s a cold December’s night. I am done with my House Job’s final working day. I am so happy and relieved. The rain and storm is making it kind of scary for me but Mariah Carey’s “Love Takes Time” is echoing at the back, which sort of gives me the contention of feeling him around. Damn you stupid brain! He is sitting far there, miles away, across the seven seas, in New York’s classy Café. And here you’re sensing his presence in each touch and voice.
I sort of miss him. No! I sort of miss him too much. I talked to him in the morning, though. I do it religiously. I guess, I love him too much. But that’s not as much as he loves me. I fear these distances would distract him from me. I kind of feel this fear of losing him. OH, THE HEARTACHE…….
She instantly closed her diary for she couldn’t bear it more. Even the thought of losing him would give her chills down her spine. It would make her suffocate in her own rib cage. Beneath her own skin. In her own bone’s stature. In her very own existence. She hurriedly emptied a cold water bottle inside her soul, down through her gullet and calmed her anxious self.
“No. We can never be separated. NEVER. This never is a promise. It was made when he left for his FCPS-Part-1 studies, abroad. I am a doctor. He is a doctor. Ours is a love of arteries and veins. Of aorta and heart. Of bones and tissues. Of tendons and ligament. Of lungs and wind pipes. Of brain and nerves. Of stomach and pancreas. Of medicines and patient. Of stethoscope and overall. Of prescriptions and writing pads. Because, after all, HE BELONGS TO ME, I BELONG TO HIM.”
Ours is a love as classy as that of a French wine – “Oh beauté!”. But it is as fascinating as Italy’s gorgeous brands and expensive clothes. As romantic as Sweden’s seductive vibe. As cheerful as Brazil’s carnivals. As pure as Canada’s waterfalls. As melodious as England’s orchestra’s stricken streets.
She loved travelling. She would always compare her delicate love story to the countries and cities, that is how she breathed different shades in a single bonding.
“I remember when your name was just another name that rolled without thought off my tongue.
Now, I can’t look at your name without an abundance of sentiment attached to each letter.
Your name, which I played with so carelessly, so easily, has somehow become sacred to my lips.
A name I won’t throw around lightheartedly or repeat without deep thought.
And if ever I speak of you, I use the English language to describe who you were to me. You are nameless, because those letters grouped together in that familiar form….. carries too much meaning for my capricious heart.”
She murmured gently while having the last sip of this ever-so-soothing black coffee – a favorite for both of them, something which bonded them even tightly.
It is for him.
I find you;
In the green meadows,
In the autumn’s leaves’ crunch,
In the spring’s blooming colors.
I feel you;
In the rainy nights,
In the sunny mornings,
In the windy evenings.
I sing you;
In sweet lullabies,
In love songs,
In melodious tunes.
For my love;
I have eyes –
And I chose you.
I have soul –
And I bonded to you.
I have heart –
And I placed you in it.
– Yours, forever yours….
“Hahahaha. WOW. I am a poetess. I WROTE MY FIRST EVER COMPOSITION. Oh honey, your love made me a poetess now. Hahaha.”
She laughed happily.