I haven't talked to him for the last two days. It started with not putting up with him about folding clothes and then soon turned into his unbreakable silence. I fought back and broke into crying; not finding myself mature enough to deal with such trivial anxieties like adults as we already are. Seemed like it broke his heart as his eyes seemed to glisten too, mirroring my heartache. Every night when I go to sleep later than him, his head tugged into my bosom, my comfortable calm heartbeat being his lullaby- I heard oceans in his low little breaths. Times like this felt so mundane, the distant hollow, resonance of the urban city passed by with my hair poking his closed eyes. He flinched a little, hugging tighter than before, drawing the blanket over my shoulder knowing well I neglect my chilliness when I catch a cold easily. To love a person like him and to be loved; felt so dreamy. When I see him smiling in the kitchen cooking, or when we go grocery shopping and pay half and half, or even when we sit together in our white porcelain bathtub playing with bath bombs as if we are cherishing the inner children of ourselves, or when I meet him in the subway all sweating from all-day work, and my face at it's worst, yet the moment our gaze meets unknowing grins formed. Someday we get a seat, some other days we stand, some days he sits I stand, or he stands and I sit; however, every day feels so unique and calming with him. At nights, when impatience grabs our desires, we crave our skins when each other's touch sends fire, I see him dizzily. How he hastily throws his t-shirt on the floor, helps me with my bra, ties my hair in an updo bun (even though I have short-length hair), kisses my earlobe, plants another smooch on my thigh, and kisses my fingertips. I have always loved kissing his jawline and his upper lips which is thinner than mine yet plump... and when we end our kissing session our lips all swollen, red hue matching cattleya petals, the eyes can't catch the wholeness of the other however our hearts do. Meanwhile, my bun loosens, his pajama bottoms are thrown away on the other side of the bed, and our bodies are hugged under our favorite green blanket. Regardless, we had witnessed the euphoria in our hearts paved by the epiphany of each other souls, I felt a lone tear made its way on the pillow, at then I felt an unfamiliar warm teardroplet touching my face. " Love, are- you crying?" I asked, forgetting I was crying too, " It's just everything feels unrealistic, never in my life I have wanted to secure someone so much as I want for you, never in my life, I have wished to grow old with a certain someone, in this arbitrary world. Perhaps, it's fleeting so much I miss you more-" he continued, taking in a deep breath, placing a soft kiss on my forehead, " I miss you when you smile in the kitchen washing dishes, when your eyes sparkle just watching egg dishes on TV, when I see you sing in our every Saturday meeting of our own Bloomsbury group, when I see you whining over the assignments when I see your dried drool marks in the morning. I imagine myself as the luckiest man on earth, to be loved by a woman like you. I miss you knowing you are here, I miss you when I hear your voice over the phone even when you're just by the next room, or when you hum your favorite song. And today I realised when we met our naked bodies together- two naked bodies and two naked souls merging with each other- all those emotions I felt pang for, I had missed you was all of loving you. You gave me all of you, I gave you all of me. Yet every day passes by like a whim, I witness Vivaldi's four seasons in you, your emotions reach me like presto, tearing my heart down with love, love, and love. And even though love isn't enough words to describe my ardent unnamed feelings for you, yet I would say hopelessly, I have loved you, I love you. I love you." I realised it wasn't him who was crying as my eyes became blurry with momentous truth befuddling our minds, I touched his forehead with mine, and whispered, "I'm Nobody! Who are you?/Are you – Nobody – too?/Then there's a pair of us!/Don't tell! they'd advertise – you know!"

I heard a knock on my wooden white door when I was reading Demian by Herman Hesse. As I opened the door, a tall, familiar, lean body mostly exhausted looked up into my eyes, I met them... and apologized sincerely; he has loved me, had said it in most cases when I felt empty at loving him, not knowing he too needed rest, he too needed a shoulder to cry on. Gladly, we soon make up the little itsy bitsy strife that successfully kept us apart for two long days, though thanks to that we are loving each other more. The love we shared was imperfect, was like all other emotions we portrayed, it was an art form with no text available. Later we had a wonderful dinner with our favorite Bengali dish posto vat and at night, after much consideration decided to meet our parents next week. As we slowly drifted into sweet slumber, the two platinum engagement rings on our respective left ring fingers, glistened with the tiny stars in the midnight hallow.