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I wonder what he might be doing right now.

Is he staring in the mirror, checking out himself or is he playing with his hair?
Is he thinking of me, like I am right now?
Is he also looking at the moon, and staring at twinkling stars while I think of him?
Umm.. no, I guess he might be with his friends or he might be working.
I wonder if he knows how often I think of him, how I’ve made him my secret obsession.
He once asked me what love is. I said, it’s something you can’t define and love makes you do things for others to make them happy. Back then this was the only understanding of this word I had.

Now, as the time has passed, I can better define love.

Love is… It’s him.

Love is what I feel when his lips purse into a cheeky smile.

Love is what I feel when he brags about his hair, all the time, how he loves them, how the hairdresser loves his locks and how all the people keep mentioning how gorgeous his locks are.

Love is what I feel when he holds his head high while he speaks of the girls that hit on him and how he almost never gives into the temptations.. how the seductresses are all around him, but he has the mighty power to hold himself back and not fall prey to those perfectly toned calves and gluttons, those beautiful looking, faces with sharp and pointy noses and those, with hair of the colour, the bright red blame has. He lovingly calls him, his ‘Ginger-heads’ which almost always cracks me up.

Love is what I feel when, he tries to make me laugh during a serious talk and how it mostly backfires at him. How, he quietly takes the blame for it, making that cute puppy face while he says, ” Hey, it was getting dark so I thought I’d cheer you up a little.. I’m sorry.”
(That puppy face and sweet voice, it’s a combination of cuteness, also my weakness. I always give into it.)

Love is what I feel when he stops for a moment and just stares at me.. There’s just silence that speaks for what he feels.
He famously calls it the “Awkward Silence”.
Does he know that I appreciate them a lot?

Love is what I feel when he gifts me something and then waits for days to see me in it, like a kid who eagerly waits for his Christmas presents. Oh, how his eyes light up and lips shape into a big smile as he watches me twirl in the dress.

Love is what I feel when after a long wait, I get to listen to his voice through the cell phone. What a blissful sound it is! Relaxing and reassuring..

Love is what I feel when he understands the subtle things.. when he gets me and puts me first.

Love is his warmth which I carefully keep locked up, safely in my heart. His warmth , that helps me shut my eyes on dark, cold days.

This is what love is for me, It’s him.

As the years pass, will my love for him fade away, or will it stay the same? I think, it will just grow deeper and deeper..

Will we end up together? I don’t know.
I guess some answers are best left to this universe and it’s workings.

All I want to say is that I have finally found my forever in him..



“So Cinderella finally met her ‘Prince Charming’ and they lived happily ever after.”

“That’s it mommy?”

“Yes,  sweetie. Now go to bed. Mommy has work to do. Good night sweetheart. Sleep tight.”

Samantha gently kissed her daughter’s forehead, tucked her in, turned off the lights and tiptoed out of the room with the story book in her hand.

“Oh no, no, no, no…. Not again! Crap!” , she exclaimed as she looked at her watch. She darted into the bathroom midway picking up her red heels.  As she began to fix her soft brown locks, she began thinking of which look she wanted to go for today. But firstly it was important to conceal all the bruises and the hickeys. She carefully dabbed some liquid on her face and arms to conceal the purple spots and the blue-black ones. “A girl’s body shouldn’t have any scares”, she softly spoke to herself.

As Samantha began to transform into Cinnamon, she stared at the picture of a couple she had put up on her bathroom mirror; a cut out from the Elle magazine, and thought to herself that maybe someday she could too have a handsome guy right beside her to make her happy. “ Maybe I am just another Cinderella waiting for her prince charming. Just one more day in this hell…. “, she said to herself as she did her eyes. Her phone buzzed. It was Cindy from work.

Samantha  smeared the darkest tint of red on her lips finishing up her makeup,  stole a  quick glance of herself in the mirror; Cinnamon was ready.

She checked on her daughter, looked around the house, took the keys and left.

After an hour or so, she reached her work place where she met Cindy. They exchanged their usual ‘hellos’ and complimented each other on how great they looked tonight as they stood in the freezing, dark, alleys hollering at men who came; hoping that out of all the guys they sleep with today, maybe one will be their Prince Charming.