Can It Be Called Love?

By Alba Johny G.

What is love? Have you ever been in love or loved someone other than yourself? What makes you so ashamed of expressing your feelings or being rejected? Do you believe in love at first sight? Are there any criteria for love? You may have come across at least one of these questions in your life. If not, here I ask you. Can it be called love?

It was an idyllic evening after a hard downpour all day, and I was on my way back from college. I loved the cool air that streamed in through the window of the bus, causing my messy locks to blow over my face. I had managed to secure a window seat. Even though there was a lot of noise from traffic outside, I was still content in my little world. At times, my ears caught up in the conversations among those seated nearby. The exhilaration you feel, I suppose, is typical for all of us when the stressful exam days are over, and you are at last relieved to get a few days off. Even if all emotions are the same, what distinguishes them all is their intensity and mode of expression.

It takes nearly 10 minutes to walk from the bus station along the shady path to my final destination, my home. Home is the only place I ever longed to return, no matter where I went. Because no matter who I am, it's the only place that will embrace me with unwavering affection. Where my appearance is insignificant, my abilities are unmeasured, and my performances are not evaluated. Even when I achieve small success, the praise I receive, the criticism that eventually becomes encouragement, and sometimes the monotonous advice are all that have made me who I am today. As I was busy in my own world, I almost missed my stop. And it took me a few seconds to realise it. I rang the bell and got down hurriedly.

As I strolled, remembering how I had begun my day, I observed a man standing far away. As I drew closer, I realised that he was an old classmate of mine, and we were in the same parish. He appeared to be waiting for someone, and as I approached, I understood that someone was none other than me. He was restless, and I knew the reason too. I recalled how I ran when he came to propose to me when we were in school. Even though the memory made me giggle, I forced a serious expression on my face. I began to programme my thoughts to find a casual way to pass through him. But then he was right in front of me.

He gripped the bag tightly as he prepared to speak. Eventually, after much effort, he completed his words. "I love you." He smiled softly at me, satisfied that he had finished his sentence, and he waited to see how I would respond. Yes, I was aware of this in advance, so there wasn't much amusement. However, a tinge of fear shot through me. Alone with the diminishing light of the sky, I felt uneasy. Even though I knew the answer, I said nothing. He seems to have more confidence now, yet it seems like I've been losing mine. 

"What will you do if it's a yes?" I asked him. His expression brightened at this, and he replied, "I would do anything and everything for you." I have revised the question now. "What if it's a no?" I noticed him slowly losing his grip on the bag. "What in me made you fall for me?". I continued. Was it my personality or my appearance? It appears that I was foolish to think that you loved me, even though I have never felt anything for you. Having confessed to holding onto a bottle of acid, you still, call it love. It’s not me you love, but you yourself. How selfish you are and your thoughts; if I cannot have you, then none can. Holding onto the bottle, it's evident that you fell for the looks, so you planned to ruin it. 

Here I tell you what you claim as love is nothing but ‘lust’ and love cannot satisfy it. When you said anything and everything, I never knew that you would gift your precious love with a bottle of acid. And still, you call it “love.”

I guess there was some humane consciousness left in him when he walked away silently, throwing out the bottle into the darkness.

By Alba Johny G.