Everyone’s a romantic 

It was a pleasant night at anvari town, the rain paused itself graciously allowing the trees and animals to breathe before it commences for a longer duration of time. The dimly lit streetlight wasn’t much of a silver lining for those who needed it, it was rather a pointer stating that it’s too late and you need to get to shelter as soon as possible. The sounds were less, croaks croaking of love, the rowdy owls hooting for what seemed to have amused them, the wild dogs howling, giving the entire village a warning for the dangers of bigger predators. But the most admirable creatures who I would like to thank personally would be the fireflies. They made miral happy,  she didn’t smile for them but I could see it in those deep brown eyes. 

“It makes me happy, those fireflies. They are the most beautiful creations of God”. Which gave me the chills of a relation where there was always a third person involved, privacy is a sarcastic definition for no secrets at all. “I know you don’t have faith Zo, but one day you will when you open your eyes”. 

“I have faith in you, better yet I; I have faith in what you believe in and that’s more than enough for me”. The romantic always on his toes. 

Sleeping under a tree with a stream in front of us flowing into the jungle, providing food and shelter for the beings of the wild. The nights in anvari were cold most of the time because of the Himadri range. Snow would come and go, the sun would rise and set but the weather would always be the same, cold enough to love somebody as much as you can. 

“Why don’t you write Zo?” You’d make a better writer than a soldier!”. Her surety is unfathomable. It is because of that, we are in love. I would always help her at school, assist in anyway I could. Make her happy, feed her when she didn’t get any food, fight for her when it came to dance partners during the annual sisters Christmas program. Everyone knew about us and it was not like she was shy, delicate or quiet. She was bubbling with energy, she’d love school. A distraction from her disjointed family. She’d be the topper every year. She’d rush to school most of time without bringing her lunchbox, she’d always be at the top of everything and truly she was at the top of my heart, the hormones truly are mystics. After the tenth grade, she made a definite statement, she kissed me on my dry lips and said, ” You love me zozi and I love you, we will definitely be together regardless of all the problems we would have to face.” We parted ways as I was leaving with sorrow in my soul. Graduation meant the world to me. Through my time, letters and calls were what kept me alive apart from my exams, assignments and friends. 

Here we are, sitting under a tree, all grown up, still the same kids, this time bigger and better yet still foolish and arrogant. If there was one thing to describe our relationship it would be ” suckers for cheesy love stories by authors who have  never had one”. She’d always retort, “maybe we’ve grown up too much that we might need that cheesiness to come back, maybe that’s why the shady entertainment business of the movie industry in India still sticks to the same plot because deep down inside the person who’s intellectual enough to relate between the Uber and cheesy things in life does long for a fantasy when he/ she falls on the bed”. The journalist has the last say. 

We lay on the wet soil, cooling our backs while we look at the star filled sky, thinking of what is yet to come. One thing is for certain, in any form or manner everyone’s a romantic. 



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