Chapter 2: The Traveler's Proposal

“I’m not made for love,”

It was early January when Kiran first entered my life, sliding into my LinkedIn messages with an ease that felt surprisingly natural. Unlike the other men I had encountered online, Kiran’s approach was smoother, his words carrying a certain warmth and sincerity that drew me in. I learned that he was a fellow traveler, deeply rooted in his spiritual beliefs as a Bhaktipath follower, devoted to Krishna and Radha. We were colleagues of sorts, working in the same company, yet it was as if we were on different sides of a mirror, reflecting two distinct paths that somehow converged in that digital space.

There was something refreshing about Kiran. He had a directness that felt disarming. His messages were genuine, thoughtful, and always touched on topics that went beyond the surface. I found myself looking forward to his calls, which often came during work hours and lingered into the evenings, filling the quiet spaces of my day with laughter and meaningful conversation. I could hear the sincerity in his voice, the way he spoke to me, not just with me. It felt like a breath of fresh air in a world where so many connections felt fleeting and insincere.

Kiran had this way of making me feel seen. He would call me just before he went to sleep, his voice a mix of calm and curiosity, always wanting to know how my day had been, how I was feeling. It was in those moments, lying in bed with the city lights flickering through my window, that I felt a certain comfort I hadn't realized I’d been missing. I felt myself glowing from within, a sense of excitement blossoming in my chest that made me feel alive.

We spoke of our dreams, our pasts, and the things we hoped for. I learned that Kiran had a deep love for adventure, a thirst for new experiences, and a profound commitment to his spiritual journey. He spoke of the temples he visited, the prayers he recited, and the peace he found in his devotion. It was a world so different from my own, yet I found myself drawn to his faith, his discipline, and the way he seemed to see the world through a lens of wonder.

It wasn’t long before he asked me a question that sent my heart racing: “Would you be my next girlfriend?” His words hung in the air like a challenge, bold and clear. Part of me was flattered—who wouldn’t be? But another part of me was cautious. What did he really mean by that? Was it a genuine desire for a relationship, or just a fleeting whim from a man who seemed to be perpetually in motion?

Yet, despite my doubts, I found myself opening up to the possibility. His calls became more frequent, his words more intimate. I could feel a glow spreading through me, a radiance I hadn’t felt in years. I began to see myself differently, too—through his eyes, as someone worth knowing, someone worth loving. For the first time in a long time, I felt beautiful, interesting, and full of potential.

There were moments when I’d catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, noticing a subtle shift in my demeanor—a brighter smile, a softer gaze. I felt a newfound confidence bubbling up from within, something I hadn’t realized I’d lost until Kiran’s words and attention brought it back to life. His belief in me seemed to spark my belief in myself. I started taking more care in my appearance, feeling lighter on my feet, more willing to embrace the woman I was becoming.

But as much as Kiran seemed to offer a sense of stability, there was an inconsistency that began to creep in. He spoke of grand plans for us to meet, to bridge the digital divide that separated us. Each plan was filled with excitement and promise, but each time, something would come up. A work trip, a family obligation, a spiritual retreat—reasons that seemed valid but left me feeling a growing sense of disappointment.

One day, I found myself standing at my window, phone in hand, waiting for a call that never came. The city buzzed with life outside, but inside, I felt a familiar pang of doubt creeping in. Had I been too eager, too willing to believe in a dream that was never meant to be? I tried to brush it off, telling myself that he was just busy, that I needed to be patient. But with each passing day, the uncertainty grew, gnawing at the edges of my newfound glow.

When we finally spoke again, Kiran’s voice was filled with a hint of regret. “I don’t think it will be possible for us to meet anytime soon,” he admitted. “Unless you book a flight for me, or you fly here to see me.”

His words stung, piercing the bubble of hope I had been floating in. I felt a wave of frustration and confusion wash over me. How could he be so direct, so warm, and yet so unwilling to make an effort to meet? I realized then that his boldness, his confidence, had a flip side—a reluctance to commit to anything concrete, anything real.

Despite this, Kiran remained a source of comfort. He continued to like my Instagram reels and view my stories, always leaving a comment or sending a message whenever I posted something new. He became my confidante whenever I felt low or overwhelmed, especially when I faced criticism or harsh comments from strangers online. He had a way of lifting me up, of making me feel validated and appreciated, even when things seemed uncertain.

There were moments when I told him I missed him, that I wished we could meet in person. Each time, he would respond with a gentle deflection: “I’m not made for love,” he’d say, “I’m just a good friend.” But one day, when I mentioned another man who had scared me with his advances, Kiran’s response surprised me. “Why are you so friendly to everyone?” he asked, a note of jealousy creeping into his voice. “I thought you were only friendly to me.”

I paused, taken aback by his tone. It was the first time he had shown any real possessiveness, and it made me realize that maybe, just maybe, there was more to his feelings than he was willing to admit.

But in the end, the distance between us remained. The plans to meet never materialized, the calls became less frequent, and the glow that Kiran had sparked in me slowly began to fade. I realized that while he had given me a glimpse of what it felt like to be seen, to be desired, he was not ready to offer anything more than that—a momentary spark in a world of fleeting digital connections.

Moral of the Story: Even when connections seem genuine and supportive, clarity and mutual understanding of intentions are crucial for any relationship to flourish.

Note to Young Women: Ensure that both parties have clear and mutually understood intentions in any relationship. Don’t hesitate to ask for clarification and express your own intentions openly. Recognize the value of emotional support, but also be aware of the need for clear boundaries and mutual respect.

Advice to Young Men: Be direct and clear about your intentions in any relationship. Understand that emotional support and friendship are valuable, but they require honesty and transparency. Respect the feelings and boundaries of the other person, and communicate openly to avoid misunderstandings.