When I first saw her, she wasn’t even a year old. Carried by her mother, I knew there was something special about this girl the moment I saw her. And from that day, I knew I would spend my life waiting for her.

Everyday many people pass me by. All are different. Some grumpy, others nice. Some snobbish, others just fine. Some constantly babbling, while other good listeners. But none had caught my eye till I saw her. I didn’t know if it was her innocent-looking face that glowed or her eyes that shone that struck me at that time. But every time I did, my heart jumped a little, my breathing quickened, my insides knotted and I could feel something in my stomach. When I saw her looking at me sometimes, a chill ran up my spine. And I waited. Waited everyday for her to cross my path so I could steal a glance.

I saw her growing up. I saw her every time she would pass; holding her mother’s hand, sharing small murmurs or lost in her own world of thoughts. And the more I saw her, the more I got mystified. I found her beautiful and intoxicating. I found a strong sense of belonging in her.

And then one day, I saw her looking at me. Not those absent-minded glimpses, but the more-than-a-second look. I felt myself getting warm and red. I was blushing. My heart knew no limit of happiness and my soul was flying high. I got shy for a while. All these feelings I had never known surfaced, one at a time. And then, I found her looking at me more often. Sometimes, she would just steal a glance and at other times, she would stare at me with her twinkling eyes. Sometimes, she would be showing me off to her friends, sometimes she would capture me in her memories. Every day I wished I could talk to her and tell her, “I’m all yours.”



I first saw the house when I was in my early teens. I was searching for my perfect house when I saw it. It was standing beside other beautifully crafted houses, but there was something different about it. Something my heart failed to articulate and my mind failed to answer. So I decided to scan a while, leaving my eyes to wander over its windows and rooms. I was awed by the amazing crafted tiny soldiers on its wall. I knew in an instant that there was something special about this house.

From that moment onward, every time I passed by it, I would either steal a glance or stare at it for a while. I would be left with many questions like what its carvings meant and who owned the house. I would wonder about its interiors and what it felt like to live in such a house.

When I stared at it, I would observe every small detail with many thoughts passing my mind. The tiny soldiers looked like they were marching towards a battle. They reminded me of the battles my country fought to protect her sovereignty. But the walls were falling apart. The large windows were broken at places. The people who lived there were oblivious to the house’s beauty. This made my heart cry bitterly. I would take my friends to the place and flaunt the carvings. I would express my desire to renovate and preserve it and to live in it. I would share my wish to hide the house from the world.

“It’s normal to feel that way,” they said, “but it’s difficult to do that. It’s maddening actually.”
By the time I reached my late teens, I was obsessed with the house. I would take all my free time to be near it, observe it and trace every minute detail. I would get lost in its beauty feeling mesmerized but saddened by its state, and wished to rescue it and set it free.
So, every time I was stared at the house, I would whisper softly, “Do not be afraid. One day, you’ll be mine and I’ll take care of you. Till then, I’m yours.”