Hand in hand 🤜🏻🤛🏻

A lazy summer evening. With a scoop full of ice cream in her mouth, she stares at him with her large black eyes. He being humming some old pieces of Md. Rafi upon his guitar. Smiling and grinning over one-two lines, they steal looks with one another, followed by him asking her, “why are you smiling, baby?”. She answers with another smile.

Every time he said, “You looks beautiful”, she, passing by him in his suede shirt around like a carefree bird, kissed him gently on his shoulder, implying she belongs to none but only him. With glasses on, rosing on her bare toes to reach out for an old book from the topmost shelf, trying to cover up her peeping belly, to which he would utter, “Baby, no one else is here. Its me only who will get to see it”.

Of her careless style of sleeping in his arms near the balcony, on “their couch” as like the most comfortable place of her world, he wouldn’t miss a chance to stroll his hand on one strand of her hair which tends to play with her lips. Of the winter evenings when, after a walk by the street lights, he would be freezing out of cold and ask for her embrace and warmth for some moments before she enters kitchen for dinner.

Those autumn afternoons, on Sundays, after lunch, he will record few evergreen songs to which she still keeps drooling over. He would say, “Damn I forgot that song, I am very bad at remembering the lyrics”, to which she would reply, “But you are good at remembering the notes and scales”.

Of evenings after a day full of work, cuddling over a movie, and failing to take their hands off one another. Of moments when she would be busy preparing some of his favourite dishes, he would be coming over to her, from the back, and making her screaming the hell out by pointing out to the spider at the corner.

Those moments, when after having shower, he would brush his bare chest while holding her, and she being totally enticed at that fragrance, planting a tender kiss upon his chest, and forcing him to go get ready as he would be late for work. His unwillingness to this, and spontaneous utterance of those playful words, “You don’t love me at all”.

Those texts they would deliver, “Baby, come home soon na”, while one being stuck on the suffocating traffic. But forgetting all the stress over just one smile of hers. Those assignment he would be busy on, and her constant yelling to come over to her, as she can’t fall asleep without him on her chest. Those habits of her sudden waking up in the middle of sleep, only to check whether the blanket have fallen out from upon him, whether he is feeling cold, just to drag him a bit closer to her. Unconsciously been woken up, he would hold her even tighter between those sheets of infinite love.

To those talks, when they will still be thanking destiny to have make them met each other, depicting their firsts. The first kiss, the first hug, the first night they made love. Those nights when there would be thundering cats and dogs along with cold breeze outside, they would be still finding treasures upon each other’s touch.

Carving memories of all the ups and downs of lives, they would live a life none less than a poetry. To those moments. To all those future moments.

Life will be at its damn best with them around each other. A life only these two have created. Their life.