Sometimes I look at you and wonder how, after almost three years, you can still make me feel like I’m meeting you for the first time.
That day in Kasauli, you were wearing that red striped shirt and shorts, with your new hair colour, and somehow you looked more beautiful than I had ever seen you. I kept looking at you, getting lost in those big, bold eyes, and falling in love with you all over again.
We drove separately but kept finding little moments to sit together. In the lift, I touched your leg, and later, when we were alone for a few minutes, we kissed like we had been waiting for that moment forever.
That evening on the balcony was different.
We sat facing each other, our feet touching. We stretched each other’s calves with our feet, teasing and pushing each other, laughing. It sounds like such a small thing, but with you, even the smallest touch feels extraordinary.
Later, when you came close to me, I kissed your cheek and held you for a moment. I remember thinking how impossible it was that after all this time, you could still make me feel this way.
The next morning, I went to your room and we kissed again.
Then I found another excuse to come back while you were getting ready.
You were wearing that black striped top, and your collarbone—God, Firdaus, why do you do this to me?
You looked gorgeous.
I kissed you softly on the lips and then kissed your forehead.
And strangely, that was my favourite moment of the entire trip.
Maybe because it wasn’t about desire.
It was just tenderness.
It felt like home.
We said I love you countless times during those two days. And yet, on the drive back, I couldn’t stop thinking about how soon I wouldn’t be able to see you like this anymore.
That thought hurt.
Because suddenly I felt like you were drifting away from me.
And the truth is, I don’t know how to live with that possibility.
Kasauli reminded me of something I’d somehow forgotten:
I am still completely, hopelessly in love with you.
Your voice still feels new.
Your presence still feels new.
Your touch still feels new.
Even after almost three years, somehow every part of you feels like something I’m discovering for the first time.
I wish I could have you beside me 24×7.
I wish time would just stop whenever I’m with you.
Because maybe that’s what scares me the most—
that something can feel so beautiful, so alive, so completely ours…
and still not be forever.
But for those two days in Kasauli, I didn’t think about forever.
I just looked at you.
And fell in love again.
Like I had never seen you before.