Love is remembered, not found. Can love have a face? If it did, it had to be similar to yours. I used to say, “If you touch a stone, flowers will flourish in that.” Your touch melts my heart; Perhaps that is why I called you Shree; for what you are to me: the embodiment of love. --- Vaatsalya
How we Happened!
I wasn't looking for you.
Before Rishikesh, I had no grand plan. I'd left my previous job. I wasn't searching for a relationship. I wasn't looking for someone to fall in love with. I wasn't even particularly looking for a job. And then, somehow, this opportunity found me. I didn't prepare much. I just showed up, cleared the interview, and came to Rishikesh. It took about ten or twelve days before I properly met the team.
And then I met you. I don't think either of us knew what was about to happen.
It started very quietly.
Within just a couple of meetings, somehow, we had started meeting outside of work. And then one night, we found ourselves wandering through the roads of Rishikesh together. We sat at Triveni Ghat. It was cold. There were little fish in the water, brushing against our feet. The river was flowing beside us, people were coming and going, and somehow the two of us just kept talking. Later, we went to Janki Setu, where a night show was happening. And somewhere in between all those ordinary little moments, you quietly asked me: “What do you think about marriage?” I remember that question. Maybe you were only asking. Maybe you were testing the waters. But I remember thinking that there was something about the way you asked it that made the world feel slightly different.
And then there was the bike ride.
The next day, we went together on the bike.We stopped for chai.We sang while riding through the cold. And I remember looking at you and having this completely surreal thought: Could this woman actually be mine someday? It was such a strange thought Because how could someone I had only just met already feel like someone I could imagine building a life with? You were beautiful, yes. But it wasn't just that. There was something extraordinary about you that I couldn't quite explain yet. Something that made the possibility of us feel strangely natural. It didn't feel like I was imagining a future. It felt, somehow, like I was remembering one.
And then came the jacket.
It was cold. I asked you to put your hands inside my jacket pocket so they wouldn't freeze. You didn't do it the first time. I asked again. Eventually, you did. And then I asked if I could put my hand in there too. You said yes. And that was the first time our palms touched. I don't know how to explain what happened in that moment without making it sound like a cliché. So I'll just say this: It was electric. There was nothing dramatic about it. Just two hands inside a jacket. And yet somehow, that tiny moment said more than either of us had.
We were already making plans.
We hadn't even figured out what we were yet. And somehow we were already talking about trips. About where we could go. About how we'd spend New Year's together. There was something almost ridiculous about how quickly it was happening. But I wasn't scared of it.
I think some part of me was just quietly hopeful. Hopeful that whatever this strange, beautiful thing was becoming, it would find its way to us.
I didn't wait very long.
Over the next few days, we met again.
And again. Dinners. Long conversations.
Sai Ghat. More roads. More time together. Sirasu. From Russian tea to Momos of Krishna. You told me about your life. About your relationship. About the things that were complicated. You told me that women need time to make sure a man is right for them, while men are often in a hurry to know where things are going. And maybe you were right. Because I was definitely in a hurry. Not to possess you. Not to force anything. I just knew that I didn't want to pretend I wasn't feeling what I was feeling. So after only a few days, I told you: “I'm interested in you. If you're open to it, I'd like to see where this can go.” You were a little shocked by how straightforward I was. But you didn't say no. And sometimes, that's all a beginning needs.
Then came Vanprasth Ghat.
It became our place. Before that, at Triveni Ghat, I'd held you for the first time. I'd kissed your head. Small things. Gentle things. I laughed at the complications. The kind of moments that don't announce themselves as important while they're happening. But later, you realise: Oh. That was the beginning.
At Vanprasth Ghat, I kissed you for the first time. And somewhere around those ghats, those cold evenings, those bike rides, those chai stops and those long conversations... we became us.
It wasn't always easy.
There were difficult days too. There was a breakup that had to happen. There were complicated emotions. That wasn't easy. But somehow, through all of it, we kept finding our way back to each other. And four months later, we moved in together. Which, in retrospect, feels completely insane. And completely right. Because that's the thing about us. Nothing about this has ever been particularly orderly. We didn't follow a neat little path from meeting to dating to falling in love. We collided. We stumbled. We held on. We figured things out while we were already living them.
And here we are.
One year later. Still figuring it out. Still laughing. Still fighting sometimes. Still choosing each other. Still becoming whatever this is. And I think that's what I love most about the way we happened. I wasn't looking for you. And then you arrived. Not quietly. Not carefully. Not according to plan. You arrived like a beautiful tornado — and somehow, in the middle of all that chaos, you became home.
The Tornado We Are!
Relationships are often sold to us as calm waters—a quiet convergence of two people who move at the same rhythm, like the same music, and look at the world through the exact same lens. Well, that isn't us.
We don't float along calm waters; we are a storm. We love with an intensity that can light up a room, and when we clash, it carries the same electric force. We are a tempest of opposing forces—a perpetual whirlwind where two completely different worlds collide and somehow create an anchor in each other.
Psychologists and thinkers often talk about the "tension of opposites"—the paradoxical idea that chemistry doesn't always come from similarity, but from the friction generated between two distinct poles. Like a magnetic field, the pulling power exists entirely because the ends are different.
Look at the blueprint of who we are side by side: You are soft, an anchor of warmth and grace; I can be as stubborn as stone and unyielding as iron. You move through the world with pragmatic, everyday groundedness; I am drawn to the abstract, lost in spiritual questions. Your day ends early, drifting off into quiet rest while the night is still young; mine begins late, chasing thoughts into the quiet hours of the night. You find comfort in the cozy sanctuary of staying inside; I feel the pull to step outside and wander. You dine on one side of the menu; I stay strictly on the other.
Even our quiet moments sound completely different. Your playlist flows with bright, effortless pop melodies. Mine drifts toward the haunting depth of ‘Tum Ek Gorakhdhandha Ho’—a Sufi qawwali that obsessively unravels the maddening, beautiful mystery of existence. Yet, isn't love itself a Gorakhdhandha—an intricate, beautiful enigma?
How do two people who share almost no surface-level traits end up sharing the exact same heart? The answer lies in the storm itself. When two identical forces meet, they simply glide past one another. But when two dynamic, completely opposite energies meet, they create a force field. In relationship philosophy, this dynamic is what transforms routine into growth. You introduce softness to my rough edges, and I offer a fortress when the world demands strength. You ground my abstract mind, and I bring a taste of wild mystery to your order.
We don't fit together like matching puzzle pieces; we fit together like night and day, constantly turning into one another to make a complete 24 hours.
Riding this storm isn't always easy, but it is undeniably real. It is passionate, dynamic, challenging, and fierce. We are the living proof that love doesn't require agreement on every detail—it simply requires an unbroken bond at the center of the winds.
To the world, we might look like opposites of almost everything. But inside our whirlwind, we are whole.
Here's to us, to our friction, to our chemistry, and to another year of riding The Tornado We Are.
About the Tornados:
- “Without warning, as a whirlwind swoops on an oak, love shakes my heart.” — Sappho
- “Opposites attract, and I think temperament is so fundamental that you end up craving someone of the opposite temperament to complete you.” — Susan Cain
- “Our partners don't always have to think like we think. That's what makes life interesting.” — Dr. John Gottman
Whenever your mind takes over, you feel low, come here and remember what we have. For as long as we live.
Future: The Horizon Ahead
If looking at our past is like reading a story of two opposing forces colliding, looking into our future feels like watching a dynamic sunrise over a turbulent sea. People often ask where a storm goes after the initial rush of the wind. Does it calm down? Does it dissipate into quiet, predictable routine? For us, the answer isn't about fading into quiet boredom; it’s about learning how to sail together through every wave ahead.
The future will bring its own set of opposites. There will be new crossroad decisions, different dreams to balance, new rhythms to find, and yes—more heated debates over things as simple as dinner or as complex as where life takes us next. You will keep dreaming of cozy, anchored spaces; I will keep looking at the open horizon. You will bring the gentle steady hand to our plans; I will bring the restless spark to push us forward.
We don't expect the future to suddenly make us identical. We don't want it to.
To love someone completely doesn't mean changing who they are to match yourself. It means building a future big enough, strong enough, and flexible enough to hold both of our worlds at once. It means knowing that no matter how loud the winds get, the anchor holds. We don't know every detail of what lies ahead on the road. But if our history has taught us anything, it’s that together, we can weather any weather.
Here’s to the wild, unpredictable, beautiful future ahead—and to navigating every mile of it, side by side, in the heart of our storm.
Let's:
- Travel the World: Mapping every continent through two completely different sets of eyes.
- Build an Empire: Crafting a home, a life, and a legacy from two opposing visions.
- Collect the Miles: Running through late-night airport terminals and early-morning layovers together.
- Master the Art of Compromise: Deciding on one destination when one wants the beach and the other wants the mountains.
- Create Our Own Rhythms: Blending high-tempo ambition with quiet, rooted stability.
- Rewrite the Playbook: Proving every day that total opposites make the strongest team.
- Conquer the Quiet & The Loud: Taking on the wildest storms and enjoying the peaceful moments in between.
Dearest Shree,
With you, it never really feels like a beginning. It feels like something I had been walking towards for a long time... and then one day, near Janaki Setu, I just recognised you. Something in me quietly said, "this is her."
Since then, everything has slowly started becoming... us.
Not perfect, not smooth, not easy, but real in a way I didn't know life could be. We built a home together in a place that didn't even want to give us one. We fought the world a little, fought each other a lot, over bed, over tables... over things that were never really just things. And still, somehow, every time something broke, we stayed. Even when you said you wanted to leave, even when I got angry, even when I cut all those photos... we stayed. And then I sat there and pasted them back, one by one.
Maybe that's what we are - not people who don't break, but people who don't leave.
I see you, Shree.
I see the child in you, the way you laugh, the way you try to hit me for no reason, the way you become so light when you are at peace. I see the love in smallest of things - those little not saying "I love you guddu" that you probably don't even realise how much they mean to me.
I see the way you come close, hug me, put your head on my chest... and in a few seconds you drift into sleep. It makes me feel like, in some small way, I am your safe place. And that means more to me than I can ever say.
I know I am not perfect. I know my anger and irritation sometimes come in the way of the kind of love I want to give you. But I need you to know this - I am trying. Every day, in small ways, I am learning,
Settling, becoming better... because you matter that much to me.
Because what we have matters that much.
That trip... I don't think I'll ever forget it. The rain, the cold, us getting soaked on the bike, sharing pizzas (and moments), driving and walking in that mist, watching the clouds form and disappear outside the window. And then at Surkunda Devi... you sitting there, tears in your eyes, asking for us. Something inside me became very still in that moment. Certain.
While coming back, I saw how everything was so new for you. Each moment brought out a different expression. And me, who was feeling that peaked to all those things, found something new, something more precious. I enjoyed your presence more than anything. It made me feel something I didn't feel through all those things. Love, fulfilment, completeness and peace. A sense of belonging.
I had found my home. Finally!
When I look at our house now, the plants you planted that are starting to flower, the tables we built, the photos we took - it doesn't feel like a setup anymore. It feels like a life, quietly growing, slowly settling into something. Home. And you are at the centre of that feeling. When you are around, everything feels in place. Even the ordinary things feel full. And when you are not there, even for a few hours, something feels off. Not empty in a dramatic way... just incomplete. Like a part of me is missing.
You have become important to me in a way that is simple but deep. Not loud, not forced... just there in everything. In how I think about my days, in how I imagine the future, in how I feel at home.
You are like a flower, Guddu betu, soft, alive, quietly beautiful.
And I don't want to hold you tightly out of fear. I want to be the space where you can grow fully, freely... where I stand beside you, learning how to grow with you.
I don't promise you a perfect love. But I promise you this -
I will stay.
I will learn.
I will try, again and again.
And in all of this...
I choose you.
In the easy moments, in the difficult ones, and in everything we are still becoming.
Love you,
Shree.
P.S. - Marry me, pleaseeeeeeeee 😭
Muaaaaah!!!!!
