I love watching romantic movies and reading love stories. I love that warm, fuzzy, overwhelming feeling.

I am a product of a love marriage thus, my fascination for love and soulmates is obvious.

I also know that the definition of love that movies and novels feed us is not it for the same reason.

It is not just adorable polaroid pictures, matching tattoos, grand gestures or sweet pillow talk.

I have seen love first hand.

It is struggle, forgiveness, sacrifice. It is earnest, divine, poignant.

Love is euphoric and in my mind, only a few are lucky enough to feel its crazy high.

And for that reason only, I have loved the concept of love, always but I have never let it seep into the vulnerable corners of my heart for I only see romance fitting into my life through stories, poetry and movies besides my parents’ marriage.

I don’t let strangers in that easily, I am a little selfish. I’m not so forgiving, I hold grudges.

So, I don’t go around looking for love in faces, I find it on pages; Rumi gets me on some days, Neruda on others, while I find my soulmate in Gulzar’s shayaris often.

But when they fail to fit my idea of love on that day, I put down a new definition for myself.

This one is from my notes.

I am a sucker for conversations that two pairs of eyes have; no words, no formalities, just raw emotions

But for some crooked reason when our eyes meet, mine can’t seem to talk

I break the eye contact immediately; perhaps not wanting him to see my true emotions, hiding them for safekeeping

He makes everyone a fool with his wit but when with me, he doesn’t bother putting up a show, he shows his true self

He sent me bottles of the cologne he wears because I mentioned I have forgotten the ways he smells;

He also sat alone on the cold steel chair at the hospital for hours, when the doctor stitched up my accident scars

He is good at making grand gestures to confess his devotion and he also shows up on my dark days making him worth everybody’s adoration.

I see him when he isn’t looking, thinking to myself if his feelings are truly earnest,

I wonder if that is what he is thinking when he sneaks up a look at me; he thinks I don’t know, but I feel his eyes on me even from far away

And when we are close, I can’t seem to concentrate on anything

His fingers linger around mine, making me desperate to feel his presence; he jitters at my touch, I notice

But when I run my fingers through his hair, he submits like a little boy tired of the world; I feel his breath calming with every stroke

In some moments I feel my validation controls him; he hands me his heart and stands vulnerable with his feelings naked

But when it comes to my emotions, my feelings, he knows I have trouble with vulnerability; so he holds me close and waits

He patiently waits for me to feel safe, and let my guard down

These days his arms have started feeling like home

My heart goes to him in moments of solitary;
My mind seeks him in moments of lonesome

When apart, my body yearns for his touch;
When together, it electrifies by a mere look

He has become a necessity, a habit, an addiction that I cannot seem to let go of

Seems that this time, I have lost the control over my feelings; I don’t know what I am to say

Perhaps, I will let my eyes talk now?

Wait

Am I willing to let my guard down for him?

Do I want to show him my vulnerabilities?

Will I regret it?

I don’t have answers to any of these questions,

But I am willing to jump into this pool of uncertainties if its with his hand in mine.

Why?

Is this love?