The Woman My Grandmother Loved.

Chapter One.

"Understand me, I'm not like an ordinary world. I have my madness, I live in another dimension and I do not have time for things that have no soul."

Charles Bukowski

My wedding with Zoravar was just two months away when one of my family friends popped into our apartment to pay us a visit. Zoravar was my college sweetheart, well he had been the twenty-six-year-old newly inducted professor when I had been the twenty-four-year-old in her final post-graduate year.

It hadn't been love-at-first-sight but on a desperate Saturday with a graduation ceremony only two weeks away, I had found myself scrolling through Tinder as though I were hunting for the holy grail. There I had found him, smiling through his rectangular spectacles, dressed in a pale blue shirt, looking both seductive and cute in a way that made my heart beat a little faster. He looked like the kind of guy you could have hot, rampant sex with, and then he'd blow your mind as well later with discussions on capitalism. I had known for a fact that he was intelligent and so without even thinking twice, I had swiped right.

Within two seconds, we were matched. And within two minutes he texted me.

He asked me why I had swiped right. I told him I wanted to sleep with him. He blushed the next day when he saw me and proceeded to stumble into the door.

And within two years, he was twenty-eight and on his knee with a ring while my twenty-six-year-old ass burst into tears.

We didn't break any rules. We waited until I had graduated and all my official ties with the University had been cut. We didn't even meet before that though I was tempted more than once to march up to his cabin and shut the door while we did unspeakable things to each other. I was never a good student but those two weeks I was very, very distracted.

When we met for the first time, he had been waiting at a table for me, my professor looking very out of place in a restaurant setting. Somehow, I had always imagined him within the college and never outside as though he existed only within the academic realm. The tension between us was palpable from the moment he saw me, those two weeks of texting having been enough foreplay. We weren't even twenty minutes into the conversation and I could already feel the heat pooling in my lower abdomen and I wanted him.

When we did end up in his apartment; I learned that I had been correct. He'd blown me both with his skill down there and his discourse on capitalism and I thought that would be the end of it.

He was sweet, sexy, and suave. He had to be a jerk. But turns out he wasn't.

When the morning rolled around, he dropped me at my house. And two Saturdays later, after I had finished crying about the first job I had been rejected from, he asked me to be his girlfriend. It only made me cry more so he came up to the flat where I lived with two of my giggly classmates (his students) and held me until I was all cried out and later ordered ice cream for all of us. Then he asked me again if I would like to be his girlfriend.

Three months later, when I had gotten my first job and we were out for dinner, I told him I loved him. He cried and I don't think I've loved a man as much as I loved Zoravar as he cried under the fluorescent lighting of the restaurant.

I love you. He told me three days later as he shuffled his feet awkwardly. We were outside my building at night. I know I forgot to tell you that day at dinner. But I love you.

I told him that loving me and all was nice but I needed to head upstairs. He said that it was the I-wanna-wake-up next-to-you kind of love. I told him I didn't plan on getting naked that night. He shook his head as if I were the stupidest person on Earth.