Felt and Fell

One

I almost wish he'd been more roundabout and this was going to be more of a surprise. But, there again, at least I knew to get a manicure.

"So, baby, have you decided yet?" Yash looks up at me with that warm smile of his, and my stomach swoops. Just for an instant, I thought he was being super-clever and that was his proposal.

"Um ..." I look down to hide my confusion.

Of course the answer will be "yes." A big, joyful "yes." I can still hardly believe we've arrived at this place. Marriage. I mean, marriage! In the one and a half years I've known and dated him, I've deliberately avoided the question of marriage, commitment, and all associated subjects (children, houses, sofas, herbs in pots). We don't live together, I've been busy with my job and taking care of Noor's higher studies in England. My girl got herself a scholarship, helping me quite a lot with the expenses.

I knew we were good together. I knew I loved him. I'd seen him at his best (the surprise birthday trip and when I drove over his foot by mistake but he didn't shout at me) and his worst ( he did have a bad temper with people sometimes but no one's perfect.)

He's not the show-offy kind. He's measured and deliberate. Sometimes you think he's not even listening but then he'll come to life so suddenly, you realize he was alert the whole time. Like a lion, half asleep under the tree but ready for the kill. Whereas I'm a bit more of a gazelle, leaping around. We complement each other. It's Nature. (Not in a food-chain sense.)

So I knew, for some time now, he was The One. But I also knew what would happen if I put a foot wrong. In my experience, the word "marriage" is like an enzyme. It causes all kinds of reactions in a relationship, most of the breaking-down kind. Men usually run away from this word.

Like my friend's boyfriend. She just mentioned once and that was it, One mention and he freaked out and said we had to take "a break." A break from what? Until that moment, they were fine. So clearly what he needed a break from was the risk of hearing the word "marriage" again.

Yash is definitely better-looking than any of my friend's boyfriends. (Maybe I'm biased, but I think he's gorgeous.) He works hard as a media analyst, but he's not obsessed. He's not very rich, but who cares? He's energetic and funny and has an uproarious laugh that makes my spirits lift, whatever mood I'm in.

When I look back over our relationship, I don't see a black blot, or a blank space. I see a cheesy music video. A montage, with blue skies and smiles. Happy times. Laughter.

And now we're getting to the climax of the montage. The bit where he kneels down takes a deep breath...

I'm feeling so nervous for him. I want this to go beautifully. I want to be able to tell our children that I fell in love with their father all over again, the day he proposed.

Our children. Our home. Our life.

As I let my mind roll around the images, I feel a release inside me. I'm ready for this. I'm twenty-seven years old and I'm ready. All my grown-up life, I've steered away from the subject of marriage. My friends are the same. It's as though there's been a crime-scene cordon around the whole area: NO ENTRY. You just don't go there, because if you do, you've jinxed it and your boyfriend chucks you.

But now there's nothing to jinx. I can feel the love flowing between us, over the table. I want to grab his hands. He is such a wonderful, wonderful man. I'm so lucky. In forty years when we're both wrinkled, we'll remember today and thank God we found each other. I mean, what were the chances, in this teeming world of strangers? Love is so random. So random. It's a miracle, really...

Oh God, I didn't expect this...I'm blinking. A happy family, my home- that's what I have always wanted.

"Zoya" Yash has noticed my damp eyes. "Hey, Baby. Are you OK? What's up?"