It’s been two weeks since we even spoke to each other. I see you waiting for me even before I turn into the road. My heart skips a beat. I can’t wait to be with you and feel your presence. You’re busy talking to someone as I pull up. You glance sideways and raise your hand, gesturing that you’ll be right there in a minute. I wait. You say bye to the person you’re talking to and get into the car.
Where do you want to go? Home, you tell me. Home? I thought we had dinner plans? Yes, but first go home. I’m puzzled at this sudden change of plans, but I don’t ask much. Ten minutes and we’re home. You get out and walk up, as if on a mission. I still don’t get it. I park and go up as well. You’re already inside by the time I get to the door. I shut the door behind me and call out your name. I realise you’re in the bedroom. I dump my bag on the sofa and go inside. You’re waiting. What? I begin to talk. You pull me into your arms and kiss me. The unexpected act makes me stumble over my words. I return your kiss. Your hands seek my hips. I melt. You hold me to the wall and kiss me again. I’m now a puddle of mush. What happened to you? I look up quizzically.
“Nothing. I needed to show you that I love you. With everything I have. And couldn’t wait for later in the evening. Now we can go for dinner!” I laugh out loud at your words. A part of me finds this exceptionally silly. But mostly, I’m overwhelmed. It’s at this moment that I decide that if I could live my life all over again, I’d still choose you over everything else.