"You be the prince and I ll be the princess, Its a love story, baby just say yes..."

“I look the same in all my pictures!”, whined Leia. Whining, with her, was not a matter of worry, it was a habit, a way of life. “Maybe its because you’re the same person, baby..” cajoled Nikhil, with ways of life like hers, a life-support was essential. She yelled, and shrieked, and clawed, and purred. He endured with a smile, and an occasional outburst. She was messed up in her own fears and insecurities. He was involved with hers. She threw herself to danger. He protected her like a child. She thought she walked on roses. He made sure it stayed that way. She took him for granted. He took her to the rides.

She was honest, in the sense she paid all her bills, never jumped the red light, never even parked in a bloody no-parking zone. But with her words, one could never say. It was difficult to predict, in any given circumstances, whether she meant what she said, or whether she was showing off her queen-of-sarcasm skills. He thought her eyes would never lie. But she was a quick learner. And had mastered the art of manipulating her still naïve eyes. Maneuvering them around to corroborate her little lies. Arguments. She loved them so. And took care never to lose. Her words were precious to her, she kept them close, never conceding even if she knew she was in the wrong, she had to have the last word. One could not counter her by pointing she had said something contrary a while ago. Her views, as she so often put it, were subject to change. She was whimsical, flimsy, and frivolous, and he loved every part of it. Of her. She was his prized possession.

Living with her was a challenge, for every day he survived, he thought he deserved a job-well-done pat. And he got it. Sharing her life was every bit a reward as it was a task. For him, at least. She wasn’t a difficult person. But when she loved with all her heart, she thought she reserved the right to hate with all of it too. And she had expectations. She was from babble-dom, while he, was a man of few, rather no, words. She would make the droopy face, and move on to her next object of attention, the shinier the better. But it struck him to the core. She never understood why, though she thought she tried. Much. He could predict her next sentence, knew her inside out. She, at times, had no idea who he was. He knew all about her, maybe because she always said so much, describing every minute detail, inventing some, excruciatingly pulled out from her very blonde pensieve. He spoke less, and she wasn’t too good at mind reading. She didn’t know his demons. And she was too absorbed to care. She ranted, he listened. They were happy in their little blind-to-the-world cocoon. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t perfect. She knew she would have to let go. She knew she could still manage. And she knew he couldn’t, and wouldn’t. Let go.

*Random write. Even if you hate it, please don't say it to my face. ;) *