Love Stories: Together, Against the Odds

Not all romances lead to picture-perfect plotlines and not all happily-ever-afters look the same. As this author learnt from her  own love story, true, enduring love can master distance, despair, even loss--and outlive them all.

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Not all romances lead to picture-perfect plotlines and not all happily-ever-afters look the same. As this author learnt from her  own love story, true, enduring love can master distance, despair, even loss--and outlive them all.

I don’t believe in ‘Valentine’s Day!” my husband David said, looking at me from across the room. It was the week before Valentine’s Day and every newspaper had advertisements that promised love. “For me,” he continued, folding the paper and putting it away, “every day is Valentine’s Day.” I believed him. David was an affectionate sort and he really didn’t need a particular day to let people know that he loved them.

Yet, every 14 February, there would be a gorgeous bunch of long-stemmed roses delivered to me first thing in the morning! And somewhere in the house was a little gift tucked away for me to find! I had seen David growing up. We lived in the same neighbourhood. Our paths often crossed as he stopped by my brother’s place. Sometimes with his guy friends and dare I say, with his girlfriends as well! He must had been around 18, tall and lanky with a wispy moustache. I don’t remember ever talking to him. He did try to strike up a conversation a couple of times but I kept him at arm’s length. You’re my brother’s friend. Stay that way, I thought.

We met again many years later. This time we spoke a bit. He was now a mechanical engineer, more responsible, quieter and good-looking with broad shoulders! “He seems interesting,” I told my sister. “Dependable, too,” I added. She continued staring at the crossword she was working on.

But David had caught my attention. I loved that he could make me laugh. We bonded over sports at a neighbourhood club. He played some amazing carrom while I couldn’t hit a coin straight! “How come you play so well?” I asked him. “It’s all geometry,” he replied. “It’s about the angles,” he quietly told me, his eyes scanning the board for his next move. One day when he didn’t show up at the club. I missed him. I knew it then: I real...

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