He: What if, I got down on my knee with a bouquet of orchids and not roses. With your favorite novel as the promise for our forever. Only to tell you, how special you are to me. Would you say, you love me then?
She: Is that how plain this over hyped two-dimensional emotion of love is?
He: No, darling love. It’s one dimensional. But I need to know which dimension do you fall in of those eight that you always tell me about. I need to pass through each dimension with you to know, how sick I can get of you. I want to know how hard can you make it for me to breathe just by your tantrums and dramas. Above all, I want to know what goes in that little horse mind of yours.
*Takes a pause. Looks down and looks back at him*
She: I don’t really have any witty reply to that. But listen tell me I don’t know. What is love? Why is it? Why is it necessary? Why does it exist? Why do you have to define?
Why can’t we just let it be, without any tag? For that matter, I will tell you. I fall in love with words, phrases, symphonies, moments, eyes, everything that shines and whines. My room is filled with lights and scribbles. Under, over and near the bed there are just books. I might not read all of them everyday, but I do see them everyday. Similarly, we meet many humans through out our lives. Consider them as books can you decide now which one you love the most? No, right?
He: I haven’t asked anything yet. Consider this world a stage and the scene is a ball. Perfectly dressed and glasses twinning. With people still not high. Smiles are glittery,
People are falling all over the place,
Everyone’s talking to each other,
But across the room, there’s a just person you want to look at. There’s a just person who is home. There’s just one person who reads your eyes. It’s not about how what and why? It’s about who and when? orchids or roses? Books or movies? Stories or ballads? Day or night? Sun or the Moon?
* It starts raining first drizzles then heavily. Winds are strong, dust all around. Clouds are happy mostly. We both stand at the same place. With rain drenching each and every strand of ours. *
She: I want this umbrella to be my magic wand. I want it to make the rains stop when I point it towards the sky and rotate it clockwise. If that happens our book and orchids can last longer.
*Rains stop in ten minutes*
He: Did that just happen?
Looking strangely at umbrella
She: I suppose so.
He: if this is really working! I want this umbrella to become a sword.
She gives him a smirk.
She Come on darling. You are getting demoted from two-dimensional to one. We cannot afford that, Can we?