My First Moment of Love
It is interesting how he fell in love with her. It was the moment when he saw her hunched over Michael Ondaatje’s The English Patient, sitting at a desk in their classroom, oblivious to the world around her. Warm morning sunlight streamed through the golden yellow panes of windows, illuminating one side of her face, as she sat, absent-mindedly twirling the lonely curl that dangled by her right ear. What a beautiful way to be lost in a world of words! He loved everything about the moment – the ambience, the stillness, the faint movement of her lips as she read, the ease in her posture, the gentle way in which she flipped the pages. He, the avid reader, sincere writer and the admirer of the moment, standing by the door, hands crossed, was the insignificant addition in what seemed to him, a beautiful painting. He wished he could freeze the picture and moment for posterity. He wrote a poem about it, and titled it ‘My First Moment of Love’. A year later, he gifted her the poem, and after a few more, along with a ring. She said yes.