What is love? - A short story.

Part 1:

As we lie entwined, listening to each other's breaths, I realize how much I like being in her company. Over the past few months, she and I have grown comfortable enough with each other that there is no need to plan an activity for us to meet: mere company seems to be enough. Often, on evenings when I still have work to finish, I find her to be quietly reading a book, flipping page after page, without so much as a 'Can you keep the noise down?' or 'How much longer before you are done?'. It is not to say, we are ignoring each other - in fact, its quite the opposite. When we are not talking or doing something together, our individual activities are punctuated with furtive glances at each other. And if she does catch me in the act, it is always accompanied by a triumphant smile that is expressed more by her eyes, then the curl of her lips. One of the true signs of a good relationship is where one is able to...

"What is love?", she asks, abruptly stopping my train of thought. "Do you think you could explain it in a simple way?"

We had spent the evening fooling around, so I wonder where that came from. It could be either of small-talk category or real, wisdom category but it is not evident. "Why do you ask?" I respond, quite curiously.

"I want to know what love means to you."

"Its a rather big, complex topic, don't you think? I mean—"

"Yes, and that's why, explain it to me in simple words."

"I feel tired. Does the question go away if I say, 'I love you'?"

She pauses momentarily, taken aback perhaps, because we have never used the L-word yet.

"No. I will merely continue by asking, what do you mean by that?"

"Point. Okay... let me think!"

She continues staring softly, studying my attempt to gather thoughts and words. Feeling conscious and a little bit lost, I begin thinking out aloud.

"It is hard to say authoritatively what love is. Its easier to tell what love is not."

Her eyes remain still, and her sustained silence insists that I continue.

"Well, love is not an entity that can be modeled as a system of questions, equations or instructions. Neither does it have one line definitions. It is not uniform or consistent among people. Actually," I moisten my lips, "given enough time, the same person might find love to be different than before!"

I was hoping she would react, maybe we could have this like a conversation and discover what she wanted to hear. I can hear the clock tick away, but there is no sign of a response.

"Well, okay, some people think love is all about giving. There are others who think love is about getting lost with someone - as if it were a gateway to a magical land, a getaway from their real world. And I know, at the very least, one person who thinks love is about losing. She left him later, citing that she didn't want to be with a loser." I chuckled, "Love could be a drug, you know? It could be a cure too. It is a very complex set of emotions, is all I can say."

She sighs. "That's what everyone says, yet none of that makes sense to someone who hasn't fallen in love."

"Well, its the best I can do right now. Love is a feeling and is better experienced than defined. How do I explain the magic of a rainbow to the blind?" I reply with a slight tone of irritation.

"Not by asking the 'blind' to help you with it!" she relays, raising her hands to signal the quotations at blind. 

We both fall silent, but the clock ticks away, continuing our conversation with its volley of tick-tocks. Feeling twitchy, I am prompted to move my arm from under her. Our disposition gets disturbed and the silence, duly marked by the moving hands, is starting to grow uncomfortable.

"How about we talk about this later?" I offer. She nods, we gently peck, smile and lie down again, with my arm around her, and her head on my shoulder. I pull her closer, drawing in her warmth. 

Moments ago, I was thinking about one of the true signs of a good relationship. Acceptance of silences, I would have summarized it. The kiss was necessary to make the silence comfortable again. I can still hear the clock beat, but instead choose to ignore it. I know she was reaching out to me - the question was not merely about quenching some long held curiosity. Had she really never fallen in love? I am beginning to wonder if I could ever claim to have fallen in love, either. Sure, there was my highschool love, and then the college love. But, they wouldn't have been love -textbook love- if I don't even think of them anymore, would it?

Her question had put me at unease. What does love mean? What am I looking for? Am I just a blind man prodding around in the dark, hoping to find a hand to hold and walk with? How will we find the rainbow? And, what if there is no rainbow and we remain stuck on a blind pursuit? Is this what they mean when they say love is blind? Okay, shut up.

She moves her head, surprised by my chuckle, and asks, "Whats funny?"

"Nothing. Just thinking of what you asked. I am no where close to answering it... In fact, I feel blind too! What is love?"

<To be continued> 

This is my first experiment with short stories (and it might be shorter than I expected). Do you have any suggestions, feedback?