Honey, do you like the coffee?
He sips his own hot chocolate, making that noise he always makes, the subtle mmmmmh for the pleasure of the taste. He loves to taste and smell everything. He even chews water to taste it better. I smile at him, he has milk foam in his moustache.
This is one of those moments, the silent half a second on my lips before the words pour out. My fingers play with the edges of my coffee cup while my eyes wander from his eyes to his dark hair tied up, his shoulders and arms, to his hands and fingers. They are the fingers of a guitarist, the nails kept neat and long.
The coffee tastes good, not like back in Europe, not even close. But really good.
How did this happen, I ask myself. Or at least I used to ask, nowadays the questions and the answers, all the many of them, tossed and turned dozens of times inside my head, are a bunch of distant echoes somewhere behind me. Miles away in a distant reality, another time of another me.
It must have been the Universe all along.
We happened in just a few months. Both of us living our lives literally across the globe, me in Finland and him in India. I would send him pictures of the forest and beautiful trees behind my house, the midnight sun of the Finnish summer nights, the wild blueberries and quiet lakes. He would send me pictures in return and tell me stories of his childhood until sunrise.
Months passed and I couldn’t explain it all to myself. Friends told me to get real. I tried to create excuses not to let it all happen. The more I wanted to hold on to explanations how crazy and not rational it all was, the more I heard the walls crumbling down around my whole being. It was him tearing them down.
Finally I surrendered.
It felt right letting go of the things that did’t serve me anymore to create space for the ones that did. My blood was rushing towards India, my heart beating to the rhythm of something bigger than I needed to explain, calling me to my home. It felt right. Like the Universe had it planned all along, I just had to let it all in.
And here I am. In India.
Having my coffee with the man I feel I have known for centuries yet only met a couple months back.
This is one of those moments when I know, how right it all is. He looks at me the way he did at the airport when we first met. Finally, my life. His eyes are a home to me, his words a calm in my heart.
“Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere.
They’re in each other all along.”