Things Take Time, Just Enjoy Where You Are Now

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I think the universe is a slow-cook kitchen. It refuses to serve anything before it is adequately simmered. I learned this while dating Sakshi. She is patient. I am the emotional equivalent of instant noodles. If something does not happen quickly, I start questioning fate, purpose, destiny, and once, even my furniture placement, such as my chair position, is seen as blocking blessings.

One evening, we sat on our building terrace. The city below was glowing like many tired fireflies trying to look important. I complained that my life was moving more slowly than a government form's approval. Sakshi listened with that quiet smile she uses when she knows I am creating dramatic weather out of mild humidity. She finally said,

“Just enjoy where you are now. Things take time.”

I stared like she had handed me a puzzle with no edges. Enjoy where I am. How. My present felt like a waiting room where even the posters looked bored.

Sakshi laughed and said, “You rush everything. Even the tea you sip while it is still boiling. Even your feelings, you try to conclude before they finish arriving.”

I said, “I feel stuck, like my success is buffering. Like a video that pauses every time something interesting is about to happen.”

She said, “Buffering means something is loading. You never notice that part.”

That kept me silent for two minutes, which is a personal achievement.

To distract myself, I looked at the sky. The moon was thin like it had skipped dinner. I tried to breathe slowly. I tried to act like I was not a walking storm.

Then a pigeon landed before us. It walked like a retired philosopher. It looked at me with heavy judgment. Sakshi said, “Even this pigeon is more relaxed than you.” I told, “The pigeon has no goals. No deadlines. No pressure to appear admirable. It just exists.”

Sakshi nodded. “The pigeon is present. It does not compare its flight speed with that of other pigeons.”

I said, “Fine, I will try to enjoy where I am. But if the universe could hurry slightly, I would not complain.”

She laughed and tapped my forehead lightly. Happiness arrives when it is ready. Not before.

Later, we cooked dinner. Cooking with Sakshi is calm. She moves gently. I move as if I’m trying to solve twelve problems at once. She chopped vegetables like a quiet song. I chopped onions and produced shapes that looked confused. She said, “Relax and enjoy this, too.” I said, “I cannot enjoy tears.” She said, “The onion is cleansing your emotional history.” I said then, “I must be a monk now because my eyes were waterfalls!”

We cooked slowly. For once, I did not rush. I let the steam rise. I stirred gently. The smell grew richer. Everything took time. But the final bite tasted like comfort.

I understood something. Life is a slow recipe. If you keep opening the lid every few seconds, you let the heat escape. The flavour needs time to settle. We need time to settle. The world is not against us. It is simply marinating us.

Sakshi saw my face and said, “You look like you learned something profound.” I said, Yes, I will stop forcing life to go fast. “ I will be like the pigeon,” she said. “Please do not start sitting on pipes and making sounds at strangers,” I said I cannot promise.

We returned to the terrace. This time, I did not ask when my life would change. I just held her hand. My heart felt less like a pressure cooker and more like a warm pot resting on a low flame.

Life did not suddenly transform. No dramatic moment happened. But something inside shifted. Things were always moving. I needed to slow down enough to notice.

The next day, we waited for the elevator in our building. The elevator is old and moves at a pace that suggests it is reflecting on its life choices between floors. I pressed the button too many times. Sakshi asked why I behave as if impatience is a remote control for reality. I said life is running ahead without me. She said maybe life is standing with you right now near this elevator. So I stood still. I noticed the hum of wiring. The sunlight through the stair window. The company of her shoulder touching mine. The elevator arrived eventually. It always does. I just never let myself notice the part before arrival.

I know I will worry sometimes. I will feel restless. But now there is a voice that says, ‘Sit down, breathe, look around.’ This moment may reveal something. And I may have time to listen.

The Boomerang Heart: A Tragicomedy of One-Sided Love

When love is a boomerang, the universe returns your heart with bruises, laughter, and unexpected lessons.

“A hilarious, soulful story of one-sided love. When you throw your heart at someone who never catches it, the universe teaches the funniest, harshest, and most profound lessons.”

I Loved Her Like a Flamingo Loves Disco Lights

I loved her flamboyantly, ridiculously, completely unconcerned with grace. Every gesture was over the top, each compliment a performance, every look a silent monologue for an audience of one. She smiled once, lightly, accidentally, probably at a fly. My brain filed it under major life events and issued an internal fanfare. That was mistake number one.

I performed acts of absurd heroism. I carried her bag across town like a servant of chaos. I gifted her plants that demanded more attention than I could provide. I composed notes that read like miniature operas on paper napkins. She did not respond in kind; she laughed once at a misstep I did not even notice, which I counted as a victory.

Chaos, Nonsense, and the Art of Fights

Text conversation:

Me: You texted me again

Her: Yes, I did

Me: You are ridiculous

Her: I am not ridiculous, you are

Me: I am a human firework, admire the show

Her: I hate fireworks

Me: Exactly, you hate brilliance and noise

Her: You are impossible

Me: I am the CEO of impossible, hire me

Hallway confrontation:

Her: What is your problem

Me: My problem is the way you make me look at myself and feel like a fool

Her: I am not your problem

Me: You are like a Rubik’s cube in a washing machine, unsolvable and chaotic

Her: I have no idea what that means

Me: Precisely, it’s how you make me feel

Elevator argument:

Her: You really think I notice everything you do

Me: I notice, the universe notices, one of us has to

Her: You are dramatic

Me: Dramatic is the polite word for perfection

Her: You are ridiculous

Me: Exactly, mission accomplished

Everything You Do Comes Back, But Not How You Expect

I bought her a gift that exploded into petals and candy in the street. She laughed at the chaos, praised its aesthetic, and walked away. I slipped, fell, and discovered that humiliation is a curative tonic for the ego.

She never reciprocated. She never would. Yet the universe insisted on returning my love in peculiar forms: laughter at my own absurdity, resilience forged in the fires of rejection, and a strange sense of pride in my willingness to feel fully and openly.

Cataloguing My Failures Like a Scientist

Thursday, 10:43 AM, she smiled while reading a text; emotional haemorrhage in progress.

Friday, 6:01 PM, she complimented a stranger, ignored me; existential chaos noted.

Sidewalk argument:

Her: You are hopeless

Me: Yes, hopeless like a fish that dreams of flying

Her: You are insane

Me: Insane, maybe, but at least I am alive

Her: You are dramatic

Me: Dramatic is the polite word for perfection, my dear

Her: You are infuriating

Me: Exactly, mission accomplished

Falling in Puddles and Collecting Bruises

Life taught me lessons with the precision of a drunken maestro. I slipped once on wet tiles, carrying flowers like a fool, and landed in a puddle that reflected my ridiculous expression.

Her: What happened

Me: I am a man who dances with disaster, gathering soggy petals

Her: You are hopeless

Me: Exactly, like an artist claiming a masterpiece from a pile of trash

Loving her was like sunbathing in a hailstorm; each ray warmed me while each ice pellet reminded me of reality. My heart was a boomerang made of glass; I threw it recklessly and received it battered, scratched, yet intact. I became a collector of bruises, both emotional and physical, and found joy in the act of survival.

The Universe Delivers, Eventually

Months passed. I stopped expecting her to notice. I still loved her, but in a different way, as one loves a work of art without expecting it to love back.The gifts, the words, the ridiculous gestures returned to me not as accolades but as lessons: patience, humour, and a strange taste for self-sufficiency.

Late-night text exchange:

Me: Everything you do comes back to you

Her: You think life is that simple

Me: Life is a slingshot, sometimes it hits your face

Her: You are insane

Me: Insane, yes, but capable of surviving everything

One evening, walking home, a stranger smiled at me in the rain. They handed me a towel and a warm drink. That was my reward. Not her approval, not a stolen glance, not validation from the universe I had imagined. The boomerang of love had returned, not with her, but with my own heart, wiser, heavier, and strangely radiant.

Everything You Do Comes Back

Sometimes it is a disaster, sometimes it is ridicule, sometimes it is absurd beauty, sometimes it is a stranger with a kind smile. My love for her had transformed into something durable, hilarious, and profound. I had been a fool, yes, but I had been a glorious fool, capable of enduring, laughing, and ultimately understanding that love is not a transaction; it is a mirror.

I smiled at my reflection and realised the final lesson was simple: if you throw your heart recklessly, it will return battered, bruised, and slightly ridiculous. Yet it will return. And in that return lies the most exquisite, unexpected love of all; your own.

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fiction, a mirror dressed as comedy. Its purpose is simple: to remind you that everything you give; love, kindness, effort, returns to you in forms stranger and richer than expected. A river never drinks its own water, yet it nourishes the fields. The sun never sees its own light, yet it brightens the world. Blessings arrive when you release them, not when you clutch them like a desperate fist. Do not be clingy, for love that is chained turns into rust. Let go, and life will check back in with gifts beyond your imagination.