I am not a very spontaneous person. I think things through a gazillion times before I execute them. Yet, when my ex boyfriend recently asked me to take a trip with him to Thailand, for some reason all rationale went out of the window. I didn’t just agree to go for the trip; in fact, I went one step further and even convinced my parents that, somehow, this was a good idea. Why, you ask?
Because, somewhere in my heart, I still harboured feelings for him; having felt like I didn’t give him a fair shot the first time around. Two years of long distance had me emotionally exhausted to the extent of having run out of patience. I was going abroad to pursue a Masters’ degree and, therefore, wanted to start afresh. The news obviously didn’t go down well with him. This was 2015.
Cut to 2017, when - thanks to Facebook - he resurfaced on my social media feed, and, just like that, in my life. It was so effortless; as if it were only yesterday, when we were together. I asked him to meet me ever so subtly and, with the ball in his court, he suggested we take a trip together. That escalated quickly, eh? There was just one condition though; that the destination could not be anywhere in India. I found myself giving into his stubbornness because all I really wanted was to see him. All rhyme and reason ceased to exist from there on.
Two months later, I found myself at Bangkok’s Survarnabhumi Airport, sitting next to baggage claim, waiting. I sat, shaking my legs in anticipation - and might I add out of a newfound nervousness I never knew I could feel - when out of nowhere, someone gently tapped me on my shoulder. I turned around to see my ex standing and looking at me. I hugged him without so much as paying close attention to that familiar face I hadn’t seen in what seemed like forever. His light stubble brushed against my cheek as we embraced; his arms around my waist as if we had never even parted ways. His eyes lit up behind his rimmed glasses.
“Oh, my god,” I said as I, once again, rushed into his comforting embrace, this time having etched every feature like the back of my hand.
In the five days that we spent together, I got used to his presence just like old times. It was like we were two missing pieces of a puzzle. Roaming around without my pants in our hotel room, letting out the smelly farts, unabashedly, when I felt too constipated, courtesy of the the delicious Thai food that we were indulging in, and coercing him to make an appearance in all my never-ending selfies. I had never felt more alive in my own skin. It felt good to meet myself again. And I knew I could speak for him, too.
Things got pretty hot between the sheets, too. Albeit tired from all the sight-seeing during the day, in the night we found endless comfort in each other’s arms. And we didn’t hold back. As soon as we entered our room, we would turn to each other and kiss, his hands effortlessly gliding up my back, unhooking my bra while I unbuttoned his shirt with the kind of prowess that only comes from wanting and not having. Sex felt like a natural progression; an act of love, our way of making it up to each other.
The trip was a breeze in that we were constantly cracking each other up, competing on who would get the cheque first and just generally goofing around. When we parted ways, it felt natural to kiss him and say, “I love you”. He said those three words back to me, with the same certainty he had back when we were teenagers. Back when he had said these words for the first time, heaving into the phone, breathless and nervous.
We are back together now, and I couldn’t be happier. We couldn’t be happier.
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