I’m often asked if I truly believe in the romance that I write so much about. My answer is I do and I don’t. The best way to explain what I mean is to tell you my own story.
My now husband and I met at a wedding. My best friend’s wedding. That’s right. Straight out of the movies. Only difference being my best friend was his elder brother. Let’s process that for a minute, shall we? I married my best friend’s brother. Stuff of dreams, right? You’ll see as we go along…
His elder brother and I had been best friends for over ten years, right from our college days, and had practically grown up in each other’s homes and yet, my husband and I never came face to face in all that time. We lived 15 minutes from each other but met in Kathmandu, Nepal, for the first time, ten years later.
He claims we met once before in all those years and I was very rude to him. Apparently, his brother and I were on our way to a party and I was too snooty to make conversation with him. I have no memory of this so-called meeting. That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.
My first words to him, that I remember, were “My God. Look at you.” I know, not very smart or witty or anything but in my defense, I did not see any of this coming. By that, I mean, I didn’t see us coming. Nor for that matter, did either of our families. More on that later.
Also, pro tip, when someone tells you it’s very cold and to pack appropriately, leave the little black dress at home.
I’ll tell you how we first met in greater detail in the next blog post. All very romantic, I assure you, if you view it from the right lens. A slightly distorted lens but, hey, whatever works, right?
So, until next time, stay happy and stay in love guys.