It started out simple, we liked each other and didn’t need much more to sustain us. Spending all our time together, from coffee dates to taking weekend vacations to nearby towns, we were enjoying life as it was. As far as relationships go, ours was amazing. But here’s the catch, it wasn’t a relationship at all! At least not the one our friends were getting into. We were the epitome of casualness. Never referring to each other with specific tags of boyfriend or girlfriend, the social circle we were in also got used to our nonchalant disinterest in conditioning.
But something was changing. Slowly our casual attitude began evolving into a more mature relationship. Asking each other if we ate, waking each other up for a morning run trying to schedule a day around our Facetime dates, these tiny little things piled up to create a rock I just couldn’t ignore anymore.
A part of me, now, couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that this was the boy I had been spending all my time with for the past 3 months but he was just that, a boy. Not my boyfriend but just a boy in my life. We had already agreed to the fact that we were in love with each other. You read that right! We had the whole ‘goodnight, I love you, sweet dreams’ texting ritual down like pros. Yet, it didn’t seem enough. We cared for each other, so why weren’t we taking this forward?
So somewhere around December I decided to put my foot down and have a conversation with him about it. But as most things in my life, that didn’t go as planned. That evening, we went out with a few of my friends and got tipsy. Tipsy enough for me to resemble a babbling baboon, singing ‘I love you’ on repeat, on our way back home.
Once we entered my room, I grabbed a candle from my bedside and tried to light it. When that didn’t happen because of my numbed reflexes, I asked him to light it and he did. I took the candle, got down on one knee and asked him
“Mr. Shroff, will you be my boyfriend?”
“No,” he laughed.
“Why?” I asked, almost on the verge of tears.
This was it. He wasn’t serious about us, the words of affection had been a lie and he was going to admit how he’d made a mistake by leading me on. I couldn’t even build up courage to look him in the eye. Not until he cupped my chin with his hand and said…
“Because you’re drunk and because I have it planned already. And I want you to remember the proposal. Trust me, it’s going to be good.”
Huh? He rejected me because he wanted to do this when I was sober and in my senses? In that moment I wasn’t sure if I should slap the boy or give him a big fat kiss. How infuriating!
He finally did ask me out in January, after a month of planning and several chicken moments in December later. We’ve been together for a year now and maybe I am glad he said no, at least I have a funny story to share now.