“I can’t live without you,” I called my husband.
“What happened?” he asked, knowing that this was not a romantic Valentine’s Day thing.
“The printer jammed.”
“Oh!” He chuckled.
But printer aside, that is the truth.
I didn’t marry for love. I married because culture required that I get married after passing the baccalaureate milestone. I married Khalid because it was the collective will of the extended family that he was the most suitable boy. The stuff arranged marriages are made of. So, I married. Then I fell in love. Not the dizzying, heart fluttering, dreamy stuff Elvis song ‘But I can’t help falling in love with you’ is made of. There was no unrequited love, no heartbreaks, no anxiety of he-loves-me/he-loves-me-not, and my heart never missed a beat. Dating was out of the question: we were already married. No barriers, no pressure, no wondering where this relationship would lead.
So, what kind of a falling in love was it?
It was how he made me feel.
This is the man I wanted to be with.
This is the man I want to look up to.
This is the man whose voice moves me.
This is the man who makes my heart swell.
When he talks, I see compassion.
When he walks, I see grace.
When he smiles, he makes me smile.
Whatever he says, sways me.
He can do no wrong; he can wrong no one.
I adore him.
That is how I felt in those first few days, weeks and months—the honeymoon.
Our talk was made up of:
How much sugar do you take in your tea?
Do you prefer to sleep on the right side of the bed or left?
So, you are a morning person.
That’s not your kind of music? How about Engelbert Humperdinck?
Do you prefer non-stick or stainless-steel cookware?
Aren’t I lucky to have you!
Months later, all we could talk about was my growing pregnancy, will it be a boy or girl?
I glowed at the look on his face when he felt the baby move.
Our talks shifted to diapers, baby’s feed time, and ‘are we spoiling baby?’
When he would take over baby care after a long day’s work, I loved him all the more.
I loved to watch him teach little Saqib to ride his tricycle.
My heart beamed as he sled down the slope with the boys, tumbling down with them.
As he bent to help Asim with his homework, I would resist the urge to run my hand through his curly, wavy hair.
I stayed in love.
When I picked the house I wanted, he bought it. It had to be love.
Now we talked about Sunday school, then SAT prep, college choices, and the fear of empty nest.
With each passing phase of our life, children on their own, married with children, he eased my stress, calmed me down, and my admiration swelled.
I like him.
Now it’s just the two of us, and I don’t feel alone. The pandemic has had us shuttered in for almost a year. Yet, I don’t want for more. I have him.
What do we talk about now? Politics, joys of virtual grandparenting, a book I am reading, he will tell me stories he just read with that animated look of wonder, or come up with ideas for promoting my book, his eyes lighting up with excitement. And I bask in whatever that feeling is.
It must be love.
Happy Valentine’s Day
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