“Why don’t you write about us?” he asked.
“What’s there to write about?” she replied.
“Our story…the day we met…the moment you first felt something for me…our first fight…anything…”
She smiled to herself.
He continued – “you can write a story on your first love, but you don’t know what is there to write about us!!”
“No, I don’t. Because –
when I look back on the day I first saw you, it feels like the smell of a long forgotten fragrance; you can feel it, but how are you to describe it?
The moment I realized my feelings for you, it was like touching an undiscovered flower that is still in bud; I could see it blossom, but I didn’t know what to call it.
Our first fight was like one of those days when your budding flower stopped blooming and you, after having lamented for the entire day realized that you forgot to water it.
The day I told you to forget me and move on, it felt like a part of me was killed; I blamed everybody except myself until one day in my dream, a dead flower questioned me – why did you kill me? what was my fault?
The days and nights that followed was like living in hell; I could smell you…I could feel your presence. I reached for you, and found a letter; the letter held the promise of forever. How do you describe hell that you created for yourself? It still hurts.
The day we met again was the day you brought me back to life; you watered the dead flower and to my surprise, I discovered that the unknown smell was nothing but that of the blooming flower. I realized I loved you even before I smelled the fragrance, I loved you even before I discovered the flower, I’ve loved you since forever.
You can pay tribute to your first love, but not to the one that is destined to last forever.”
He smiled, bent forward and kissing her, said – “Destiny will keep writing our story forever…”
– Chirasree, a dreamer.