The Stranger I Like (1.6)

 Reverie 

– A pleasant daydream

So, there I was, dreaming of us together. I imagined the day when I finally met him, and oh, what a day it was! We spent hours exploring places he loved, sharing little stories along the way. Every step felt like an adventure, and laughter followed us like a gentle breeze. We stopped at his favorite spot for Chole Bhature, the best I’ve ever had. Each bite was a celebration of flavors, and his joy as he shared this with me made it all more special.

As night fell, wrapping the world in its quiet blanket, we returned home. And then came the surprise—he made dinner himself. YES , HE KNOWS how to cook, and not just ordinary. His meals are an orchestra of tastes, so delicious you can’t help but lick your fingers. Isn’t he just so much husband material? I savored every bite, feeling like the luckiest person alive.

And then came the question of sleep. Can you guess how we would have slept?

Different rooms?😶

Together?👀

The same room but different beds?🙂

Of course, he went to his bed to sleep, and I woke up—because, it was all just a dream, wasn’t it?😂 Huhhh! Imagining all this was such fun, though.

I often create these little scenarios in my mind—us doing this or that, sharing simple joys. But, I trust my Madhav, the great writer of destinies. I believe that if people admire me for my words, it’s only because he is my source of inspiration. He is the mastermind behind every story, the best storyteller in this universe, crafting lives with care and purpose. I know that no story could ever be better than the one he is writing for me.

When I think of him, I often write poems, pouring my feelings onto the page. He doesn’t know how much he means to me, but if I could tell him, I’d say:

You’re my habit, not a chore.

You’re my promise, not a burden.

You’re my melody, not a noise.

You’re my universe, not an image.

You’re my breath, not a sigh.

You’re my eternity, not a moment.

You’re my joy, not an obligation.

You’re my purpose, not a destination.

I wish… I wish he could see what lies hidden in the corners of my heart. But I don’t want to just say it. I want him to discover it himself, to notice the little things I do, the words I leave unsaid. If he ever grows curious and pays attention to these whispers of my soul, then maybe—just maybe—I’ll share the poems I’ve secretly written for him. Every word, every line, meant for him alone, and no one else could ever inspire them.

I thank Madhav often for bringing someone like him into my life. I never imagined feeling so deeply for someone. He means so much to me that words fall short. I’ve always longed for someone with whom I can be myself—whether it’s sharing my childlike joy or talking about life with maturity. Someone with whom silence feels as comfortable as laughter.

I haven’t shared much of my life with him, but strangely, I don’t feel the need to. His presence alone is enough to make my day better. Just the thought of him and his dimpled smile is enough to fill my mornings with light and my nights with peace.

Since he came into my life, I’ve felt myself growing, moving forward with a new kind of strength. I’ve learned that it’s not always about having someone who listens to you. Sometimes, just knowing someone exists and is happy is enough to keep you going.

If I could, I would gift him a garden of flowers to show my gratitude for what his existence means to me. He may never know, but that’s okay. His happiness is my quiet joy, and his presence is my strength.

Madhav, the divine writer, has written this story, and I trust him with every word. And so, I wait patiently for whatever he has in store for us. Whether my dreams come true or he has something even better planned with him.