I’m Anti-Valentine’s Day

That’s right! I refuse to give into the cutesy Hallmark Holiday that is Valentine’s day. Just one week to go and I’m already sick of all of the lovey-dovey mushiness that is surrounding me. All the couples in love and happy and caring about each other.

You know just once, I’d like to have a Valentine’s Day that consists of a male in my life who likes me. I’ve never been the target audience for Valentine’s Day. Never been in a relationshi(t) on Vday. Always single. Even the one time I had a boyfriend over two years ago, he broke up with me in the beginning of January and we never spoke again. Even when we were in school all semester after that and lived in the same dorm building. Eep, awkward, right.

But right now, I’m not painting my nails all pink with cute holographic hearts all over them. I’m not pining away and hoping to meet somebody special, and I’m certainly not expecting any gifts. No chocolates, hearts, flowers, dates, or fancy dinners are in my cards this year. I don’t foresee them being in my future either 😦

Source [http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/forever%20alone%20meme]

I always get a little sad when February comes around 😦 That’s all, I guess.

It’s because I’ve wanted a relationship for so many years. Maybe if I had one good long-term relationship, I’d know the pros and the cons and want it less? But I think I have the personality that gets attached and I know I would make a good girlfriend/wife someday. I like taking care of people. I’m nice andand…okay fine, I’ll save it for shaadi.com

What I’m saying is true though. I WANT A BOYFRIEND. I am not afraid to admit it. I want somebody to take care of who will take care of me. I wanna have all these lovey dovey feelings and go on a really cute romantic date for Valentine’s Day. I don’t wanna end up forever alone!

Until that dream becomes a reality, Valentine’s Day will continue to suffocate me with all of its happiness. The day singles out all of the lonely people in this world and makes them feel that much more sad, alone, and depressed. Sometimes, the lonelies will connect over the mutual loneliness they feel on Valentine’s Day, but most of that stuff is for the movies. I can’t bank on that happening for me.

I just know that love will strike unexpectedly for me. I know because I am not leaving it with any other choice. Because I’m beginning to believe and expect that there is nobody out there who will fall in love with me on his own. I’ve waited and wanted for so many years and I’ve been let down every single time. So I hope you guys will excuse me for no longer expecting to find love.

Arranged marriage, that topic that fascinates me oh-so-much, sounds more and more appealing by the day. Gods, I hate this month.

Relationship Preferences

Freshman year, I was convinced that I had a very limited range of age requirements for the kind of boys I would let myself like/date. I was absolutely CERTAIN that he couldn’t be younger than me, and I wanted him to be studying at NYU with me too. I couldn’t even fathom dating somebody I couldn’t see all the time especially since my first relationship was long-distance, we never met, and we broke up because it felt like it was a pointless and fruitless quest for romance if we could never meet in person.

Then in Sophomore year, when I met my first “real” boyfriend (As in, one that I could touch and hug and kiss as much as I wanted to), it wasn’t all that I expected. He was my age and went to my school. We even lived in the same dorm building and that definitely made it easy to hang out with him. BUT he was Vietnamese. That definitely wasn’t in my “plan” and well…three months later, THAT relationship fell apart because we both realized that we couldn’t really let our feelings deepen if I couldn’t envision any possible future with him.

Junior year I was in the slumps and just sort of partied around and hooked up a little bit. One night stands? Yay. Every time I got close to a guy, I ran away. None were Indian.

Until early this year. Technically still a Junior, I was a Senior by credit this spring semester. And that’s when I met a guy who was much older than me. (Okay fine, 5 years older) and Indian. He’s like the first Indian I’ve ever been that powerfully attracted to too, so I was eager to see where this would lead. I even dressed to impress LOL. But I don’t really see that one going anywhere though we still talk now and then.

But as a Senior, I feel now that I am much more attracted to older guys. Guys that have got at least 3+ years on me. I think that they’re a lot more mature and are looking for more serious relationships rather than one night stands, which seems to be the norm for NYU. What’s also scary is that I am trying once more to restrict myself to only seeing Indian guys because I don’t want to enter another relationship that will fail because the guy will realize that I can never show him to my parents or let them find out we are dating. It’s just so much easier if the guy is Indian. I’m sort of tired of sneaking around all the time. Also, I’m commuting.

Just found it interesting how my relationship preferences have sort of changed and grown and maybe even matured over the years. Also, let’s not kid ourselves…I am totally procrastinating working on my novel.

Le sigh, I will miss blogging in my own voice. Clearly, it is a bajillion times easier haha.



I have found that there aren’t many easy ways to explain arranged marriage to my friends. When I first mentioned it, they looked at me sympathetically and told me things like “Oh, but you always have a choice” or “But you’re only 23” as if these thoughts hadn’t gone through my head already. Then, they gave me sympathetic looks and told me “We’re always here for you if you need to talk” and “I can’t believe you’re going through with this” as the date of my wedding to Jay got closer and closer.

I’m not alone, and my story is not too unique. Instead of being told who to marry, now our parents tell us who to meet. They tell us who to go out to dinner with, and who to talk to. They tell us who is eligible and around our age. They nudge us into similar social situations and hope that something will click. They call relatives in India and ask if they know of any nice, eligible boys for their daughter in hushed voices so they won’t be overheard. And while they are doing all of that, they tell us in simpering sweet tones that they are just doing what is best for us and would we please stop teaching them how to be parents.
July 23, 2011 –

“Hey, it’s nice to meet you.” I said to the guy as he sat across from me at the café.

“I’m Jay.”

“Yeah. Hi. What’s up?”

“Trust me, this is weird for me too.”

“Oh. Yeah, it’s nice to meet you anyways. So how do our parents know each other?”

“High School. I think. Doesn’t really matter I guess. What would you like to drink?”

“I’ll take an iced coffee. Love the smell, can’t stand the taste. Of hot coffee, I mean.”

“I’m basically addicted to coffee so as long as you don’t mind the smell, we’re cool.”

I smiled a little and felt some tension leaving my body. He didn’t have an Indian accent! But he was going to have to be pretty amazing to cheer me up, because my argument with Dan earlier today had been devastating. I had nothing to say to him when he ended our relationship because he was tired of waiting. I would have been tired of waiting too, if I had been in his place and had to keep everything a secret for so long. We couldn’t have a “proper” romance, he couldn’t meet my parents and promise my dad he wouldn’t bring me home too late. There were just too many pieces missing in our puzzle, and I understood that, but when we hung up the phone, I was crying anyway.

“I’m sorry, this is really weird for me,” Jay said.

“You said that already,” I said, and snapped out of my thoughts – they were leading me to unhappy places.

“Right,” he said.

The waiter came to our table and he ordered two coffees, one iced with milk and sugar. He looked over quickly at me while placing the order, but before he could affirm, I nodded and said, “Yeah, milk and sugar please.”

This wasn’t a date, because Indians don’t date. At least, the good ones don’t. There is no word for “boyfriend” in Hindi. I told my mother that Jay and I were going to talk to each other and get coffee, and she agreed enthusiastically. Probably because the plan to meet over coffee had been the combined idea of our mothers anyway. As I had been getting dressed, my mother had said, “Have a nice time with him. Try to get to know him. He’s a really nice boy, beta.” She only used terms of endearment when she knew I was going to hate what came after, and this was one thing that I was really and truly dreading.

They still never called it a date. It wasn’t a date. We were just getting to “understand” each other, as my dad told me before handing me the car keys.

The coffees came, and his mug of coffee had one of those pretty leafy designs swirled into the froth on top. Maybe it was a latte?

I spent the next hour getting to know him as I had been instructed. It was even more weird than all of the mandatory icebreaker games I had played at club meetings in the beginning of my Fall semesters at college.

August 12, 2011 –

“FINE Ma, I’ll do it”

And just like that, I sealed my fate. To Jay Chopra. There was silence around the table because my parents knew better than to act excited. Maybe they were relieved, and they were probably at least a little bit guilty. What could they possibly say to their daughter after she’s agreed to an arranged marriage? My mother got up to call his parents and invite them over for dinner. She had the decency to do that in the other room.

If Dan had been Indian, I think I could have loved him. I could have pretended to meet him for the first time and gone for coffee. I could have invited his family over to my house and cooked an amazing Indian dinner to impress them.

As it is, I cooked for Jay, his parents, his older sister and her husband tonight. My mother oversaw the whole affair and I kept my tears to myself the entire night. If Jay could tell I was upset, he kept it to himself and the two of us played at acting like we were happy.

Our tikka (tick-a) ceremony was completed that night. My mom procured gifts for the family out of thin air and just like that, I was off the market. I felt pathetic – I had only lasted three weeks.

August 20, 2011

The reality was sinking in, and the nights were getting chilly. Jay and I met each other for the first time exactly one month ago. I wasn’t happy, but my upbringing was forcing me to think optimistically. The rationalizations were killing me but they were better than the burning frustration the rebellious thoughts came with.

They wanted what was best for me. He was good. He grew up here, didn’t have an accent. We had both fucked somebody else already.

The mental list in my head was trying its best to expand. Reasons why Jay and I getting married might not be so bad.

I laughed as I thought about how it took me only 21 days to meet and agree to marry Jay. Just three weeks. My laughter was hollow as I contemplated just how defeated and desperate I must have felt to say yes to arranged marriage and give up a chance at love. “You’ll grow to love him. It’s better that way,” my mom told me, but growing up in America, I simply couldn’t believe that. There was just no way.

My parents’ marriage was arranged. All of their siblings entered arranged marriages too. Stepping down to my own generation, many of my older cousins had married the people they met through family. I had grown up thinking I would break that expectation, smash the tradition and meet the man of my dreams. He would sweep me away and family be damned, I’d marry somebody I loved with all of my heart.

But then, my parents asked me if I would marry Jay and I thought about life without any of my family. That’s why I said yes. It wasn’t because I thought we would make a good couple, but I knew that marrying Jay would mean that I would get to keep the rest of my family, and I loved them more than I loved my own heart’s desires.

Their timing was impeccable. I was vulnerable, bitter, and jaded. I felt like I could blame my parents if our marriage failed. It added a layer of defense, and I ensconced myself in thoughts like these and tried to tell myself that everything would be their fault.

September 3, 2011

Today was supposed to be a really exciting day – it was our engagement. Our mangni (mung-knee). I was dolled up in a new outfit, one of the twenty new ones we had picked out and had custom-tailored for my wedding. This one – a lengha – was an elaborate affair of teals and purples, my two favorite colors combined. There was gold needlework all along the blouse and the long, flowing skirt had splashes of gold-rimmed mirrors sewn onto an elaborate arrangement of flowing layers of teal and purple material.

The excitement of the wedding was getting to me – I had grown up enjoying so many of them, although this one was dampened by my perspective of being on the other side. I couldn’t help but think back to the engagements of my past, where I had dressed up, whirled around the dance floor all night, and enjoyed the buffet and Indian music. They really were joyous occasions, and as engagements go, this was supposed to be the ultimate one. It was my own engagement and I was surrounded by happy friends and overjoyed family and the pure joy on their faces overruled my heart’s doubts for tonight. I was glowing like a bride-to-be and swept away along with their visions of my perfect wedding.
I was starting to warm up to the idea and Jay and I were making the most of it. Having spent practically every single day since we met with him somehow, we were really getting to “understand” each other. We got along, and he helped me plan out all of the little details of our rushed wedding, which is more than I can say for some star-crossed lovers. We had a mutual understanding developing – I can see why my parents had phrased it that way now. He tolerated my friends, and I tolerated his, though the two circles hadn’t really meshed together yet. No matter, after our mangni, we had many more weeks of festivities before our wedding.

I hadn’t touched alcohol since we were promised to one another, because Jay didn’t like it. I also didn’t want to risk the entire house falling apart if he mentioned it to my parents or it came up in an argument. There are some things a lady must never tell, and there was no point stopping the inevitable now. We were getting married. And marriage was compromise.

If you had asked me when my next free weekend was, I would have had to ask you to come back to me next year.

December 17, 2011

Dance. Fireworks. Joy?

It was our shaadi! Jay and I sat next to each other in the wedding altar. I shifted uncomfortably and tried to stop my legs from falling asleep and he poked me playfully. Behind the sehra hiding his face from me, I could see him raise an eyebrow, a gesture I now knew meant he was asking me if I was alright while simultaneously implying that he found my discomfort amusing. I was surprised we knew each other so well already. It hadn’t even been six months but I could see us together.

I mean, I couldn’t see myself with anybody else. And that was a huge improvement in my condition when I first found out that I was going to be told who to marry. Briefly, my attention wandered as I thought about whether my parents had found out about Dan and I. Maybe that had fueled them into finding me an appropriate groom?
I was snapped out of my reverie with another poke on the side. Now he looked a little bit mad, but honestly, this part of the wedding is boring. I’d been sitting here for three hours now listening to the priest drone on and on, explaining my marital duties as a wife and as a woman. I couldn’t help but feel sleepy, and the thirty pounds of lengha, jewelry, and accessories I was bedazzled in weren’t helping my frame any.

These were the ugly realities that I had been oblivious to when I attended weddings growing up. I never really thought about being in the bride’s shoes. They were uncomfortable, and I caught myself before I sighed out loud and annoyed Jay even more. The mutual suffering was sure to create some memories we could bond over later. Most of my guests were wining, dining, and dancing. The only people who sat around the altar for this part were the immediate family; everybody else was happily eating and talking quietly amongst themselves. The older aunties were eying my friends, and I could see them mentally sizing everybody up and making more matches in their heads. Thinking things like “Oh she’s the perfect height for him” and “Look at her manners, bringing her parents food before getting any for herself.”

As much as I was enjoying the decor, the dress, and the food, the fact remains that I was about to marry a man who I barely knew. Of course, the past six months had helped and we were certain we wouldn’t kill each other, I didn’t know whether he snored at night, or if he was better at waking up in the morning than I was. The things that mattered were still a mystery, and although the little girl in me found a sadistic appeal in the uncertainty, the mature romantic in me was still trembling with trepidation. I was fighting my natural impulses with my inbred ones, and trying to sort out the inner turmoil.

The priest was still droning on, though it seemed as though he might be approaching the end of his speech – he was now gesturing at us with wild hand motions, and I looked sheepishly at Jay, afraid I had been caught again. He was still staring devoutly at the priest, but before I could poke him, his sister reached over for my hand and placed my left hand over his right. This would probably be the most prolonged physical contact we had ever had.

I tried better to pay attention to what was going on and I felt Jay swirling his thumb around my knuckles. I wasn’t sure if the gesture was absentminded, but I liked it.

February 14, 2012

“Jay, really? Pick up the damn dishes for once in your life,” I yelled.

“Sorry babe. I’ll get them, just leave em there,” he said.


I turned away from the dining table toward the dishes in the kitchen and walked right into him. I stepped back and glared at him, mad that our first Valentine’s Day together as a couple was complete shit compared to the ones I had fantasized about. No breakfast in bed, no romantic movie, and no kisses. He was a complete bore. I guess that’s what growing up in business did to him.

“Well, it’s Valentine’s Day. So…so happy valentine’s day?” he said.

“Why do you say it like it’s a question?”

“It is though isn’t it? Are you happy? Are we?”

“I see a pile of dishes in the sink, I haven’t properly cleaned the house in a week, and there were no chocolates on my bed this morning. So yeah, I’m pretty unhappy.”

“Here, let’s stop arguing. Happy Valentine’s Day. I’ll do the dishes and make tea, you go sit on the couch and find a movie to watch or something”

“Kay, bring popcorn”

It was a different kind of Valentine’s day, but like two roommates faced with the knowledge that they couldn’t live apart, we really were trying to make the most of it. It wasn’t love, and I was still torn up about it, but he was beginning to be comfortable and dependent, which is what my parents might have wanted for me after all.

The mysteries were beginning to unravel at last. He only snored at night if he ate something right before bed, and I snored when I was really tired – an embarrassing fact that he still hadn’t quit teasing me about. And I knew he woke up early in the mornings because by the time I got out of bed, the shower was cold and he had coffee ready on the table for us both. So it was a good partnership. We had the teamwork thing down, now it was the relationship that we needed to build.

When he came into the living room, he brought the tea, but also brought me flowers, chocolates, and a note as well. A rare glimpse into his heart, it read:

I know our romance wasn’t ideal,
But our relationship and marriage is real.
Please keep believing that it will work –
You may not have fallen in love with me,
But I know that we can love each other.

March 15, 2012

I had just finished telling Jay how my best friend and I had mixed up The March of Ides with the Ides of March in high school, and how I had never been able to remember which one was right ever since when he leaned over and kissed me on my lips for the first time – it’s the kind of fact that you know you’ll never forget, and I filed it away in my mind right next to “almost falling asleep at my own wedding” and “accidentally pushing Jay off the bed on our first night as a couple.”

There were no fireworks, and I wasn’t tempted to kick up one of my stiletto’d feet like they do in the movies. But it was nice and it felt right. When I pulled away, I was blushing as though he’d kissed me goodbye at the front porch after our first date. I guess that’s the day our courtship really began.

I’m copy and pasting this from my Google drive, I’ll fix formatting issues in a bit

The Right time for Romance

When is the right time for romance?

Is it high school? College? Later? Never?

Am I supposed to find the cute neighbor next door and get married to him, persevere through all the odds that keep us away from each other? Because I do have a neighbor next door. The boy-next-door romance, is that what I’m supposed to follow? Is that my path?

Or is it the high school sweetheart that’s supposed to sweep me off my feet? Because that didn’t happen, and I didn’t date anybody in high school. I just went through it all with my best friends and we were happy. Being single wasn’t a pain or annoying. I was content, but did I miss my path then? When I didn’t go to all the parties I was never invited to, did I mess up and miss out? No more soulmate?

Then we get to college. I failed the high school path, but what about college? I’m almost done now but is there anybody in my life so passionately in love with me that he wants to marry me? Will I ever hold that allure for another? I just don’t get it. There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m nice, caring, understanding, funny, witty, compassionate, and honest. Am I too easy? Is that why I didn’t meet my college sweetheart either?

Graduate school – that’s next on my life path. Law school. Am I supposed to fall in love with an up-and-coming lawyer? Together, we’d be the dynamic duo and win every court case and be besotted by one another in perpetuity. Is that what I’m supposed to do? Am I being led toward the white picket fence path? Where I have two kids, one male and one female, and get married sometime around 25. We have a house in the suburbs, work in the city, and see each other on the weekends. We probably have a small dog. A low maintenance one to make up for our busy schedules. Well then, is that what my future is? I guess I just have to wait.

What if I’m not meant to every find my soulmate? The path of the “crazy cat lady.” maybe that’s my loveless path? Will something happen that’ll debilitate my capacity to love another and I’ll grow up bitter and alone? I hope not, my Indian heritage should ensure a marriage at the very least, if not love. Will I be just another boring, forgotten Indian housewife then, if that’s what I end up doing? Marrying to reproduce and take care of the household and look the other way as my husband came home later and later smelling of some other woman’s perfume?

Wow, I’m working myself up to tears right now, but I need to get these doubts out of my system and on paper.

Maybe there’s a little hope in the arranged marriage path though. Maybe we’ll compromise and grow to love and cherish each other in a way that we never would have if it was a love marriage. That ability to understand one another and complete conversations with our eyes alone. The type of marriage that comes out of compromise and mutual understanding, not a whirlwind romance that would leave us high, dry, and probably pregnant when we realized we didn’t work. I don’t know, that path sounds a little better than the romances right?

Well then I see all these stories of girls who met their husbands when they were 14. That they just knew they would get married and dated all those years and then got married one they could and now they’re totally happy. I just don’t get it. Why are they able to meet their loves and I’m denied time and time again?

Maybe I’m overlooking the right one by pursuing my fantasies? But I don’t get it – some people marry the man who was their first kiss, their first date, their first friend, or their first love. Why don’t I get that? Why is my luck so rotten that I’m 21 now and have not a single clue what it means to be in love? I can’t be that heartless.

Why? When will it be the right time for my romance?


Happy Valentine’s Day. Happy Year of the Tiger.

I’m miserable. Already. And it’s not even 1am yet. I suppose its more the fact that I’m in college than anything else that I feel so miserable today. I know I’m not alone, and I know I don’t deserve to whine or moan about the fact that I’m single today, but I can’t help but feel just a little jealous. I look around me, and these days, all I seem to notice is the blaring existence of cute, romantic couples.

Nobody likes me. No, I mean, seriously, nobody’s shown even a little bit of interest in me. Sure, I have a lot of friends, but nothing seems to be working right. And most of those who I’d hoped to hear from today have all but removed themselves from my existence, through no fault of my own. If an 18 year old boy (or is he already a man?) can’t deal with his feelings, then I don’t know what more I can say. If he wants to turn away from me because I’ve been a good friend to him for five years now, then what can I do but wait and hope he’ll come back? Hope that he’ll come to his senses – as if that’s any assurance or reason for optimism on this day.

I don’t understand – why do people push away from me so easily. At first, I’m the cute bubbly girl they know, but then, once they get closer to me, I’m too…I’m too innocent? So they ALL decide that the best way to take care of this problem is to revoke all contact with me. Observe, I’m not even kidding a little bit.

1. I’ve been friends with him for five years now, and known him for even longer than that; he’s the person I mentioned above. I trust him, and he tells me he trusts me. We talk to each other about everything, and I love the fact that he’s always there for me. And I sure as hell am there for him, through all the time he FUCKS up and does something stupid. “It doesn’t matter,” I think. “He doesn’t really mean it.” And he doesn’t. He apologizes. We make up and move on – we’re still friends. But then, one day, a slip of the tongue, and he almost confesses that he likes me. That he wishes we could have dated one another, gone to prom together, been together. But we can’t, of course, not anymore. He’s too far, right? We go to two different colleges, and it just wouldn’t be the same. I understand, I get it. I can move on. But he can’t. So he texts me, and tells me it’d be better if we never spoke again.

Just like that, he completely stopped talking to me. Entirely. My life is devoid of his existence, and the fact that somebody who I’ve been friends with for SO long can ditch me so utterly and completely like that…REALLY upsets me. And with good reason, I should think.

Fuck. I’m crying.

2. So this one’s not quite as bad, but in other ways, its even worse. Don’t judge, thanks. Not that it’ll matter – all of you who read me already know my stories…I’m not one to keep secrets. I met him online, about three years ago now? Maybe two? At any rate, we met, and we began to date one another. In come some of the best few months of my life. But then, he had a two week trip to Germany, an exchange of sorts sponsored by his high school. We were juniors in high school. Just like that, I was dumped. Over MSN – not even the courtesy of a phone call. And then, once again, a complete disappearing act.

Not a single bit of it. For over six months. And then one day, “Hey Pry, how’re you?” he said. Completely out of the blue. I mean, seriously, how the fuck do you think I am? Atleast…how do you think I am in terms of my feelings towards you? But then…the on and off conversations continued until this winter break, we got very very close again – to the point where we again began to discuss meeting up. He wants to come here for a weekend. I want him to come here for a weekend. But deep down, I know it’s not going to happen, and I’m glad it won’t – how much more heartbreak does one have to deal with?

– – –

There are a few more similar stories, so believe me when I tell you that the men I meet have a penchant for later disappearing completely. It makes it hard to even get close to a new friend that way, but I do it anyway…I’m too affectionate not to, and that’s definitely proven to be more a downfall than a boon in the long run.

But depressing, bitter entry aside, my night, at least, ended up getting a little better. Who knew talking to somebody and just…relaxing…could be this much fun? I’m glad I still have a few good friends, huh? A few good friends awake at this hour, at any rate. Well, actually, in his defense, he did go to bed at 3! (if you’re reading this, YOU KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT! Thanks for making the day a lot better <3)

Honestly, "The Spy Next Door" is hilarious when you watch it late at night with a friend!

And now, my bed wants me to sleep in it. So I'm going to go do that! Good night!

Till Death Do Us Part – 6

"The scene slowly unfolds as the lights begin to fade into darkness.
Suddenly, there is a bright spotlight on a certain Mr. Richard Desmond, distraught and pale, shuffling his papers."

Richard Desmond’s (Evandra’s father) POV

(thinking out loud)
…Gabrielle left that bundle of papers for Evandra to open once she found out about the arranged marriage. Where has it gone, where could it be!? If I don’t give them to her myself, all hell may break loose. And now she’s run off to her little treehouse with Aiden. It’s as though she’s regressing into childhood memories to avoid what is now inevitable. Marry they must, and she has to understand this. She has to, there’s simply no other opt—what was that noise!?

But there was no response. I got up and walked over to the office entryway, where I could peek out at the entrance just fast enough to get a peek of Evandra’s outfit as it flashed by on the way to her room. I had no idea what that girl was planning. None whatsoever. I’d have to go deal with that once I found my bundle I suppose. Ahh, yes, the bundle. That’s what I was doing….

But now, back to Evandra’s POV. And on with the story, because Mr. Desmond’s ramblings may never cease

Evandra’s POV

I ran into the house, racing up to my room. I could beat that lazy Aiden any day. I ran up and grabbed the white board and marker I conveniently kept right by my desk. Quickly writing out "I WIN!" in big bold letters, I ran to the window and, panting, held up the sign with a smug expression on my face. I always won. ALWAYS.

True to my word, 5 seconds later, Aiden showed up, sporting his usual sad face and a matching sign that, of course, permanently said "I lost…again."

I blew him a kiss and pulled out a suitcase, thought better of it, and put it away, going downstairs to dad’s office to tell him about what I wished to do. Aiden was probably doing the same over at his place.

"Father," I said as I opened the door to the study, "I have an idea. Since you seem so adamant that I marry Aiden, we both feel that we need to get to know each other more first. We’ve been best friends, but I don’t think we’ve ever looked at each other through the eyes of a lover. I want to know how the two of us would interact together, and for that, I wanted to ask for your permission to do something." I knew my father wasn’t going to interrupt, so I continued right on. "Aiden and I wanted to go camping for a few days. Actually, I want to see if I can put up with him for so long without going crazy, but I’m sure if I tell you it’s a good bonding experience, you’d have to agree!"

****will continue this post when I get home from work. I’m not done with part 6 yet, but I don’t want to lose my work thus far, and I’ll probably finish the update at home, so yeah

Till Death Do Us Part – 5

 "A game? What kind of game? Does it involve death or murder? Because I don’t go for those things. Oh and tattoos are outta the question too. But I mean maybe a tattoo could work, if it wasn’t of your name or face, because honestly, when we’re 80 and have wrinkly skin, it just won’t feel the same," Austin said.

Grr, stupid brat. Always making everything link to himself. As if I wasn’t even supposed to have a say.

"Nope, I’m not testing your undying devotion to me just yet Aiden! Calm down, ‘kay? But I do want to play this game, where we both’ll take part, not just you. If our parents want us to marry each other, we’re going to do it because we want to, and then not look upon our decision with regret," I informed him, because I was sure that he would hate being tied into something that wasn’t his idea in the first place. 

"Hey Dray baby, why do you make things sound so complicated. Out with it, c’mon!"

"Let’s go camping."

"…That’s the brilliant plan Dray? Camping? As if we haven’t done that every summer with the family for the past decade and a half?" he says.

But no, this is one thing I had to insist on. It wouldn’t be the same. This time, I was going to put just the two of us into situations where we’d see how we would react in the future. Call me what you will, this was big. It had to be done right.

"Well anyway, I’ll ask you again then. Let’s go camping, just the two of us. You up for it or not?" Because if he could survive a week with me in the wilderness, he’d be well on his way to surviving with me for the rest of his life. And well actually, if I could survive a week with him, at least I’d know what to expect when we both weren’t on our best behavior in front of our parents. This way, we’d just get to be ourselves for a week and see just what we were getting into.

"Anything for you hon. Let’s go and get packing then, shall we?"

He wasn’t taking this seriously yet. Oh well. I knew Aiden plenty. He’d warm up to the idea if he knew it’s what I wanted to do. And if he could pu tup with my ideas, I’d put up with his attitude about the whole thing, "Let’s see just where this takes us" I muttered to myself as I chased him back to our houses.