The Kind of Lover I Want

By Roshan Tara

If someone asks me

what kind of lover I want,

I won’t say perfect.

I’ll say—mine.

The kind who doesn’t need grand gestures

to make me feel seen.

The kind who knows

when my smile hides a storm.

He doesn’t ask what’s wrong

he just takes my hand,

holds it till my breathing slows,

and suddenly, the world feels less cruel.

I can’t cook to save my life

he laughs about it every time,

then rolls up his sleeves,

helps me chop the onions,

and says the food tastes perfect

because it’s ours.

He buys me flowers

not because I asked,

but because he saw them

and thought, these look like her.

He knows I’ll forget to wear the gajra

at the festival,

so he brings one anyway

soft jasmine, still dew-wet

and tucks it gently behind my ear,

like a quiet ritual of love.

When we fight

and we will

he’s the first to apologise.

Not because he’s wrong,

but because losing a day without talking to me

feels worse than losing the argument.

He never rushes me

when I’m late;

he just waits,

smiling that calm, patient smile

that makes the clocks jealous.

He holds me close when I can’t sleep,

my head pressed against his chest,

his heartbeat syncing with mine

like a lullaby made just for two.

Sometimes,

he kisses me out of nowhere

in the middle of a sentence,

a crowd, a laugh

and I forget

what I was even saying.

He can be mischievous,

a little too teasing sometimes,

but he’s mine

the kind of chaos I’d never trade

for peace.

He looks at me

like I’m a story

he’s been reading his whole life

but still can’t put down

like I’m both the mystery

and the answer.

And when bad days come

as they always do

he hugs me tighter,

says nothing,

just stays.

Because love, for him,

isn’t something to prove

it’s something to live,

again and again,

in small, unspoken ways.

So if someone asks me

what kind of lover I want,

I’ll say—

the kind who’s not perfect,

but feels like home.

The kind who’s kind,

and stubbornly mine.

The kind who holds my chaos like treasure,

and looks at me

like I’m the only dream

he ever meant to have.

By Roshan Tara