Is it the end? I look up at him, eyes brimming with tears. He looks away, unable to bear the intensity of my gaze. And then, as if composing himself, he takes a deep breath and meets my eyes again. “No. There can never be an end to us. This is a storm we have to endure. Alone.” I know he is right. I can feel his pain in his eyes. I draw myself close to him and kiss his deeply. He returns my kiss with an intensity that’s hard to define. As if he knows the next twelve months are going to be difficult, at times almost impossible to survive. With a deep sigh, I turn on my heels and walk out of the room.

Time flies, whether you’re having fun or not. It’s almost eight months later that I recall his words, as I see his name flash on my phone screen. I realise with a jolt that these months have been tough but not impossible to survive. I wonder if I should answer. And then it hits me. This is love. Whether we’re in touch or not, whether we talk to each other or not, that emotion will never change. I pick up. “Can we meet? This evening?”

Later that evening, we sit next to each other at the coffee shop. He reaches over and draws me closer to him. I let him. My body instinctively snuggles against him as if it’s never forgotten what it feels like to be with him. “The storm is over”. His words are like balm to a bruised heart. I turn to face him. He cups my face in his hands and kisses me again. After eight months. This time it’s different. The kiss is reassuring. It’s deeply affectionate. And it’s full of promise. Promise of a better future. Of happiness. Of love.

I turn over, stretching lazily. I feel his hands warm and heavy over my stomach and his nose buried in my neck. I feel a rush of affection. I reach over and touch his hair. Rough, curly. He stirs. I turn towards him and pull him into my arms, as memories of last night come flooding back, filling me with desire and warmth all at once. His arms tighten around my body and his legs come around my waist, as if to pull me into his embrace even more closely. I snuggle up. I breathe in deeply, the fragrance of his skin filling me deeply.

He stiffens. I sense instinctively that he needs me. I kiss him gently, seeking his lips and caressing his skin. There’s something beautiful about this man. The gentleness of his touch, contrasting with the demands of his body. It’s like he knows what I want. And how. He’s now fully awake. He props himself on his elbow and looks into my eyes, silently seeking consent. I press my body against him. And he makes love to me. A slow, sensuous act made better by the knowledge that his love for me is far deeper than he cares to admit. His lips seek every curve, every crevice, as if to memorise every wrinkle on my body. He seeks out my breasts and caresses them. He buries his face in my chest as he brings me close. And I relinquish control willingly. I surrender to his needs, knowing that my own needs will be fulfilled many times over much before that.

He fills me up, with an ardour I’ve never felt before in our years together. The intensity of his desire surprises me. Every single time. As he makes love as only he can, I feel a joy that’s inexplicable. He turns me on my stomach and continues his lovemaking, an act that frustrates and excites at the same time. An hour later, we lie spent. The weight of his body on mine feels fulfilling in ways I cannot explain. He finally brings me on top of him and hugs me close. He kisses me deeply and says, “Good morning babe. Coffee?” And I fall in love all over again. For the zillionth time.

It’s a warm and breezy summer evening. I sit at the edge of the shore taking in the salty air and revel in the silence that seems to envelope me. I’m so lost in thought that I’m jolted out of my reverie when the phone rings. I find it and fish it out of my bag. It’s him. “Where are you?” He asks.

Fifteen minutes later, he sits alongside me on the shore, arms around my hips. I’m surprised he’s here. I hadn’t told him I was going to the beach. He somehow found his way to me. “What time do you need to be back?” I’m ok. I tell him. I can take my time. He promises to drop me home. Half an hour later, he gets up, dusts the sand off himself and puts out his hand to help me up. I find myself in the car and on my way out of the city.

We arrive at a tiny beachside cafe I didn’t know existed. It’s beautiful. Picturesque. Thatched roof, candles, the deep blue sea and the sound of the waves. He orders dinner. Actually, he just tells them to bring it. They seem to know what to bring. The food is delicious. The company, intoxicating. He is attentive, intelligent and engaging. He hands me a glass of wine and asks if we can walk on the shore. I nod. We talk. Of atoms and the universe. Of philosophy and literature. Of us. Of love. It’s almost midnight when he pauses.

I look into his eyes with the anticipation of what is to come. He seems to take the hint. He reaches out and cups my face with his hands. My heart races. He comes closer. I shut my eyes. And then he kisses me. Gently. Tentatively. As if asking for permission. I kiss him back. A deep, passionate, beautiful kiss. Now I know. I know where this is going. I just don’t know how. Yet.

I step out and take a deep breath. The summer breeze is humid but pleasant. It smells of the sea. Of salt. Of love and happiness. My clip comes loose and my hair falls loose over my shoulders. I feel at peace. With myself and the world. I nurse my drink and stare out of the balcony grill into the city lights. I remember why I’ll always call this city home.

I’m jolted out of my reverie by a click. The sound of the door opening and the blast of the air conditioned air chilling my back. I turn and see him step out. May I join you? Of course! I tell him and step aside to make space for him. He shuts the door behind him and joins me. I continue my silent reverie. He lets me be. A few minutes later, I feel his hand on mine. I look up startled. He smiles and tightens his grip. I sigh. He raises his brow, silently asking if I’m ok. I shake my head and turn away. He picks up my hand and raises it to his lips. May I? I nod, unable to deny. He kisses my fingers. One by one. “Will you go out with me?” His question is music to my ears. Yes, I tell him. And I sense the beginning of something very beautiful. Only time will tell.

I step out of the car and look around tentatively. I know this is where it’s happening. I check my invitation again. Yes. This is the venue. I pause, briefly considering if I should turn back and leave. Before I can decide, one of the organisers spots the invitation in my hand and comes forward to welcome me. He seems to know who I am, or at least that I’m an important invitee. Perhaps the invitations are colour-coded or something. He smiles and invites me in, offering me a glass of champagne. I thank him and pick it up.

My eyes search for you. A few minutes later, he comes back with a note for me. “He asked me to give this to you ma’am,” he says. I nod and accept it. I open the sealed note and see your familiar writing. “I’ll be with you soon. There’s a place in the front with your name on it. Come forward please.” You’ve signed it with a name only I use for you. I smile. I turn around and look for the organiser, who nods as he escorts me to the front.

I catch your eye and you smile. That heart-stopping, gorgeous smile that I fall for every single time. I smile back and I settle down. The event starts. You’re in your element. You answer questions about your work with the practised ease of a professional. The familiarity of your voice is soothing. It’s been so long since we spoke. Your invitation to this event surprised me. “How do your sculptures evoke so much emotion? How is it so special?” The host’s question pulls me out of my reverie. You smile and say, “I don’t know. My muse does all the work.” Your eyes meet mine and hold my gaze just long enough for me to understand. I look away, unable to stop myself from blushing.

It’s an hour later that I find myself alone with you. The event is over. You’ve left the guests to enjoy themselves. You head over to me, glass in hand and ask, “Shall we step out?” I nod mutely. Outside, there’s nobody in sight. The party inside is far more interesting. You don’t take your eyes off me. “This saree looks stunning on you. You should dress like this more often.” I smile, acknowledging your compliment. You reach over and touch my earring. And then, without a word, you slip it off, come closer and gently suck on my earlobe. I draw a sharp breath, unable to hide the rising anticipation. You then cup my face and kiss my forehead, and then gently on my lips. “Will you stay tonight?” I nod. I know I cannot leave tonight.