Your first-date will always make you nervous, whether you are eighteen or twenty-five. As I see you walk in the cafe, and make your way towards me, I doubt whether or not it is a good idea. We make small talks. I’m not exactly good at them, and neither are you.
Fifteen minutes into the date, and you ask, “What keeps you single at twenty-five?” And I tell you that last year, I left the man I was with for a man I thought I was in love. You laugh and say, “You do these silly mistakes when you are eighteen, not when you are twenty-four.” And I could see it in your eyes that you’re already terrified of me. Maybe you’re judging me on my life choices, or perhaps not.
Funny how going on a date when you are twenty-five is different from when you are twenty. At twenty-five, you are no longer carefree. While half of your friends are afraid of serious commitments, the other half are getting married. So, where does that leave me? How do I tell you that my dreams are bigger than my age And that I’m more than just my mistakes. While everyone is looking for love, I’m looking for a companion. Someone who would walk by my side, hold my hand, and let me do my thing, my way.
Somehow, we end up talking for more than an hour. And no, I don’t mention any of the things I said above. We get up to leave, and you ask, “Phir Milenge?” And although I’m not sure of love at this point. I take my chance, nod and say, “Phir Milenge.”