The eyes chico. They never lie.

You stop and look into those eyes as if they said something.

You are sure they said something, but you are not sure whether it was exactly what you interpreted at first. It was always said that the eyes were the gateway to our soul.

But this was the first time I experienced it firsthand, when for the first time I met her.

She was adorable.

That was the first time I fell for someone not just for how pretty they looked, but for their soul. Or at least, for the soul I thought I saw.

Love Is A Terrible Thing To Define

Love is strange.

Not because we fail to understand it. Not because we try to explore it from a neurochemical, physical, or behavioural point of view.

But because sometimes we find it in the strangest places, where we least expect it. And it is even stranger because no matter how hard we try to understand it, we somehow fail at the end.

Maybe the problem is that we keep trying to fit something enormous into a small container. We take this massive, almost universal human experience and put a label on it:

We give it a definition. We give it rules. We give it expectations. But love arrives in different forms, on different fronts, and sometimes in absolute disguise.

Still, we keep looking for it in certain ways already taught to us by our families, our cultures, our stories, and our movies.

Perhaps that's where we go wrong.

Love Has No Particular Shape

Most of us didn't discover love. We inherited an idea of it. From our parents. From movies. From books. From everything that told us what love is supposed to look like.

You meet someone. You fall for them. You become inseparable and build a life.

And somehow, we started believing that love has a particular shape.

But what if it doesn't?

Love, like air, water, fire, earth and aether, exists in all forms, in all places, in any absurd manner one can imagine—or cannot. It has its amalgamations. And the one who sees through it eventually understands that love often comes in pieces as well.

The interpretation of it differs. The emotion we use to express care for another person—to give protection, support, sacrifice, understanding—can take different shapes. But perhaps the inner desire is one: to understand and to give.

Because what exactly would you provide when you do not understand in the first place?

That is why curiosity might be the first step when you fall in love. You want to know them. How they think. What scares them. What makes them laugh. What they like. What lives behind those eyes.

And then comes the desire to give. To care. To protect. To understand. To fulfil their desires.

Perhaps the coexistence of these two things—curiosity and giving—is where love begins to prosper.

Then I Saw A Universe

I fell hard for those eyes.

There was a depth in them that I couldn't explain. It felt like an entirely different universe existed behind them.

The multiverse is a fascinating idea in modern physics—not a confirmed description of reality, but a family of hypotheses suggesting that our observable universe may not be the only universe that exists.

I had always been fascinated by the possibility. And that day, for a moment, I found my own version of it. Not somewhere billions of light-years away. Not in another dimension. But right there. In her eyes.

Rumi once wrote about a place beyond ideas of right and wrong—a garden where lovers meet.

That was that place for me.

A garden I had somehow entered without knowing the way in. And for a second... I found myself there.

We All Carry A Key

The doors opened to me like I had been carrying the keys within myself all along. Perhaps we all carry one such key inside ourselves. And throughout our lives, we knock on different doors, trying to enter different realms.

Some open. Some don't. Some look like they will open. Some people pretend they have the key. And perhaps that's one of the most hypocritical things about love today.

Anyone can pretend that they can open your door. Anyone can make you believe they understand the language of your heart.

Anyone can make you believe:

"I understand you."

"I'm different."

"I know exactly what you need."

But eventually, you have to find out for yourself. Whether it was really a door... or merely a beautiful pretence.

Your Heart Doesn't Ask For Evidence

Your heart knows it.

It doesn't need ten pieces of evidence to claim a certainty. It doesn't run a probability analysis.

It just knows.

Like I did in that moment.

You might call me delusional. You might say I was hallucinating. Maybe I was.

But I remember travelling light-years within those eyes—multiple universes in a few microseconds.

And perhaps, none of that happened.

No physical body travelled anywhere. No spacetime was bent. No wormhole opened between two souls.

But something did happen inside me. And sometimes, the subjective experience of reality is all you have in a moment like that.

The next best thing I could do was respect my intuition, myself, and above all, my heart. So I decided to go ahead.

To interact with that atom of a universe. To knock on that door. To find my missing half behind it.

The Myth Of The Missing Half

There is an old Greek story about love that I find strangely beautiful.

In Plato's Symposium, Aristophanes tells us that human beings were once very different from what we are today. We were not incomplete. We were whole.

According to the myth, the original humans had two faces, four arms, four legs, and two sets of everything else. They were powerful, confident, and complete within themselves.

There were three kinds of these beings—some were made of two males, some of two females, and some of a male and a female. And perhaps because they felt so complete, they became arrogant.

They challenged the gods.

Zeus—the king of the gods—was afraid of their power but unwilling to destroy them completely. So he came up with another solution. He split every human being into two.

One body became two. One soul became two wandering halves.

And suddenly, what was once complete became incomplete.

From that moment, every half began searching for the half that had been separated from it. They wandered through the world looking for something they couldn't quite explain.

And when two halves finally found each other, something strange happened.

They recognized one another. They wanted to hold each other. They wanted to become one again.

Not because they had found someone perfect... but because, according to the myth, they had found the part of themselves they had been missing all along.

Aristophanes says that this longing is what we call love.

That strange feeling when you meet someone and, despite having known them for only a short time, something inside you says: "I know you."

Not your mind. Not your memory. Something deeper.

As if you aren't meeting someone new... but recognising someone you have been searching for without knowing you were searching.

Maybe that's why we sometimes look into someone's eyes and feel that they are saying something we cannot quite understand.

Maybe that's why some people enter our lives and immediately feel strangely familiar. And maybe that's why losing someone we love can feel like losing a part of ourselves.

Of course, it is only a myth.

There is no evidence that Zeus ever split humanity in half. But perhaps myths don't survive because they are literally true. Perhaps they survive because something inside them feels true.

And maybe the most beautiful part of this myth isn't that there is one perfect person somewhere in the world waiting to complete us.

Maybe it is that human beings have always carried this strange desire to feel whole.

That's Where Love Begins

Not when you know someone. But when you become curious enough to want to.

Curiosity creates the first question. The question creates the first conversation. The conversation creates familiarity. And somewhere between all of that...

You might find yourself caring.

And when you care enough, you begin to give.

That's what love is. Not finding someone who completes you.

But finding someone who makes you curious enough to explore a part of yourself you didn't know existed. A part that only knows "To Give."

The Knock

Maybe that's what happened when I first looked into her eyes.

I don't know if I saw her soul. I don't know if she was my missing half. I don't even know whether there is such a thing.

But I remember that, for the first time, looking at someone didn't just feel like looking at someone beautiful.

It felt like looking at someone I wanted to know beyond what my eyes could see.

The curiosity begins there. And then comes the desire to care - desire to give.

And sometimes, you don't know whether the door is real until you knock.

So I went forward & introduced myself.

To be continued...

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