The Art Of Loving Kindness : A journey of forgiveness, compassion & love

Pretense or Past Tense

Charis POV  (reminiscing) :

As I reminisce about that unforgettable evening at Ocean Basket Franchise, I can still see the flickering candlelight casting playful shadows across Mizo's face, making him look like some sort of mysterious movie character. I remember laughing to myself, wondering if he was secretly a superhero in disguise—maybe one who had the power to charm the socks off anyone with just a glance.

"Why do you look so deep in thought?" I teased him, gently nudging my knee against his. Mizo, of course, just blinked at me with those beautifully serious eyes, making it all the more amusing.

"Well, being here with you... it's a lot to process," he said, his tone as even as ever. I couldn't help but chuckle; I mean, part of me just wanted to poke at that stoic facade of his.

We had been an item for over a year now, and each day felt like unraveling a new layer of this enigmatic man. Sure, I knew he had his quirks—a love for polka music and an uncanny ability to find the most obscure documentaries on streaming—yet so much about him remained a delightful puzzle.

"Are you plotting a dramatic announcement or just enjoying the view?" I quipped, gesturing to the mesmerizing waves outside the window.

Then came the moment—the soft sound of his deep breath. He reached across the table, his warm hand enveloping mine. I felt my pulse quicken, half from excitement and half from sheer curiosity. "There's something I need to tell you," he said, and my stomach twisted like a pretzel.

"I'm all ears!" I replied, trying to mask my nervousness with a smile. Would he finally admit he was, in fact, a secret agent? Did he harbor a pet iguana named Sir Slobber?

"I've never told anyone this before, but I trust you with my whole heart," he continued, his voice steady despite the momentous nature of his words. "I want you to know everything about me."

And let me tell you, my heart was doing somersaults as he unraveled stories layered with nostalgia. The once-playful mood faded slightly as he shared tales of his childhood, growing up in a charming coastal village, filled with sun-soaked summer days filled with mischief and makeshift slingshots.

"Did you really shoot at birds?" I laughed, picturing him as a cute little boy, tiny slingshot in hand.

He chuckled softly. "It was a wonder I didn't end up as a wildlife menace," he replied, his little joke warming my heart.

Then, as he opened up about his struggles and dreams, I felt a profound connection unfurl between us—a bond reinforced by honesty and vulnerability. It was as if, for every secret he shared, a piece of his heart intertwined with mine, solidifying the unbreakable tie we had developed.

"You know, if we ever get married, I want our beach house to look like those old fishing shacks," he mused, his voice dipping into the realms of hope.

"Only if we have a boat named 'Mizo's Mystery'," I shot back, laughter bubbling forth.

With each passing story that night, as we leaned into our dreams, I realized that the enigma that was Mizo had become my favorite kind of mystery—one that promised to unveil itself with patience and trust. And even as years have flown by since then, I still cherish that memory of laughter, flickering candlelight, and an evening filled with unguarded hearts. But beneath his raw honesty, a shadow lingered—a sense that there was still something he wasn't telling me. I whispered a silent prayer, begging for clarity: "Reveal to me his truths."

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