There are days when love doesn’t arrive with roses or long drives — it comes wrapped in cramps, tears, and a tiffin full of paneer biryani.
Today was one of those days.
It’s my second day of periods. The pain was merciless — stabbing my lower abdomen, twisting me from inside, like some invisible war was raging in my body. Every five minutes, I was cursing my uterus and wondering how we women are supposed to be this strong every single month. My husband had an important meeting at the office. I didn’t want him to go. I tried saying it with my eyes, my sighs, even my sulky silence. But he still left.
And that — that felt like betrayal.
Because when you’re in pain, even the smallest things cut deeper. The heart doesn’t understand logic; it only feels abandonment. I sat there, tears blurring my vision, whispering to myself —
“It’s just been four months of marriage… and look at us. He was so soft, so caring at first. Now he’s just… okay whatever.”
We women become emotional vampires during our periods — we don’t drink blood; we shed it with all our amplified emotions, our moods, our storms. I started convincing myself that he was already done with me. Maybe I loved too much. Maybe I became too much. Maybe people always show their best side in the beginning. So, I did what any self-pitying, heartbroken heroine would do — called him while he was driving, said detached words like, “You don’t need to care anymore. I’m fine on my own.”
Half apple eaten, painkiller swallowed, I laid down waiting for it to kick in so I could make myself a sad little sandwich.
And then… ding dong.
The doorbell rang.
I dragged myself out of bed, my hair messy, my mood messier. Opened the door — and there he was. Standing with a food packet in his hand, looking at me like I was both the storm and the peace after it.
I didn’t smile. Nope. I put on my best poker face, pretending his presence didn’t shake my heart. I turned and went straight into the room, lay down again, hugging my pillow like the world had wronged me.
But you know what? Inside, something cracked.
The pain was still there — but suddenly, my heart felt warmer. Softer. The volcano inside quieted a little. And as I lay there, tears started rolling down — those silent, sweet tears that come when love touches the sorest part of your soul.
I started complaining to him — about everything. About pain, about marriage, about how he never understand. And he… he just sat there, listening quietly, his eyes soft, his face calm — as if I was a little girl throwing tantrums, and he was the only one who could handle me.
Then I asked, “Don’t you have office work to do?”
He smiled and said, “Office work will stay with me for 10 or 20 years. But we’ve made a pact to be together for 1000 years, right?”
Boom. 💥
That line hit straight into my soul.
And before I could recover, he opened the food packet. Paneer biryani. (And for the record — paneer biryani is not real biryani, we’ll discuss that later. 😏)
Now, this man — who’s never hand-fed anyone in his life, not even his mother — scooped some biryani, and fed me.
Something inside me melted. Completely.
The same hands that once only typed emails and held car keys were now gently feeding me rice soaked in love and apology. And that was it — I fell in love again. With him. With us. With the messy, dramatic, everyday kind of love that doesn’t need a movie scene to be magical.
Sometimes love doesn’t come with violins or candlelight dinners.
Sometimes it comes when your stomach hurts, your hair’s a mess, your eyes are swollen, and someone still chooses to show up, hold you, feed you, and remind you — LOVE
I know you girls must be thinking, “This is the bare minimum.” But for a girl like me, who has spent most of her life craving a love that felt gentle and real, this was anything but ordinary. And for a man who has never really known how to show affection, to open up and do something so simple yet so intimate — it meant the world. When two people who’ve both forgotten how to be loved finally start learning it together, every small gesture feels sacred. It’s not about the food, it’s about the feeling — the warmth of being cared for, the quiet reassurance that this time, love won’t hurt. this time, it’ll stay. We live in a love so real, so intense, that even the universe pauses to witness it.
Love isn’t always grand or perfect. Sometimes it comes quietly, in small gestures, in moments you barely notice. It shows up in patience, in presence, in someone choosing to be there even when life is messy. Don’t wait for fireworks to feel love; notice the little things, the everyday acts that carry more meaning than words ever could. Your heart deserves these moments, and when they come, hold onto them tightly, because they have the power to heal, to change, and to stay with you forever.
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