Reminiscing

I remember the time we had just started talking, chatting on Facebook. You were there, everywhere! And on that particular day in question, you were insisting me to meet you. It was as if something took over you. You wouldn’t have no for an answer. Well, I was scared to death since we had not met before in person. Yet, it was a good kind of scared. I was hanging out with my friends outside our college when you came out on your bike, CBZ star. You were perfect. Swooped in like a knight on your motorcycle, asking me to hop on. And boy, did I hop on?! Without even thinking twice, I sat behind you. There was this strange electricity. I know, cliché, right? But let me tell you, it does exist! It ran through my fingertips and I held myself back trying not to hold you as the wind whooshed my hair backward. That was the first time I rode behind you, just oblivious to how many coming years I will be riding you, on you, and in love. 

Well, the next time it happened, it was pouring. By then, we were pretty comfortable with each other. We were stuck to Facebook, not studying, not eating, just talking to each other like we would never get a chance to know more if we missed this opportunity. So, after an important college lecture, he was there, waiting for me. And just like that, he decided we must get wet and ride in the rain. Not use umbrellas or anything. Melting like wax, I nodded. I wore a deep green dress with a matching dupatta, and boy the dress was tight! The rain did not help at all. We rode together, silent in the downpour, past the salt pans and the villages to our place. 

It was a simple narrow roadside field, which when crossed, will lead you to a stream and palm tree fields. Once, a man even offered us fresh coconut flesh in actual coconuts. You would just see mountain ranges, as far as your eyes go. We lately spent all our mornings and evenings there. Our first kiss happened there. First hug, too. It was the place where I touched him and him, me. Back to where we were, the downpour! The first passion of our relationship. I felt hot. You made me feel like a Bollywood actress. The only beautiful girl you ever saw. I still remember how you tucked a curly strand behind my ear (yes, he’s romantic) and I fell for you then and there. As a kid, I’ve always wanted to be cared for. Yet, as you can guess, it didn’t turn out well. My dad, an overconfident loser; my mom, a teen who fell for a man 10 years older than her and eloped at 18. So yeah, with him, I felt cared for. He was passionate. He still is. He now refuses to go to that place. Apparently, villagers eyed us. Once, we were sitting on his bike, our crotches touching each other when suddenly I wanted to sit on him (with our clothes on, of course!). In that moment of passion, we forgot to look around, and there they were! A horde of village women carrying logs from the forest to their village, all eyeing us as if they would kill us. Once we were leaning, kissing and talking about nothing in particular, a woman shouted, “get married, kids!” Whoa, she broke our trance and we were blushing like teenage girls. Immediately, we packed up from our picnic spot and fled away. He then decided, if we were going to be married in the future, it’s not nice for us to hang out in a village full of skeptical people, no matter how beautiful the landscape was, and how freshwater flowed through the stream in every season. In 7 years of our relationship, we haven’t been at our place once, but nothing will be more magical than the place ever, and it will always be ours.

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