A Love Worth Every Heartbeat

"Will you brave the tides and storms with me?" I asked, my voice quiet but steady.

Ma Aye Phyu tilted her head slightly, nodding with a small, gentle smile that could melt the hardest of hearts. Her expression was so endearing, so effortlessly charming, that it struck a chord deep within me.

That was all it took. Just a look at her serene face, her calm demeanor, and the words began to form in my mind. The moment became poetry, and I couldn't stop myself from letting it spill onto the page.

I scribbled quickly, the lines flowing like a river:

"O little boat, spread your sail wide,

Drift away, my love, side by side.

The vast waters, we'll cross as one,

Under no fear of wave or sun.

Let the storm rage, let the winds fight,

With golden hands held, we'll make it right—

Two hearts, one sea, in the ocean of life."

Finishing, I turned the notebook toward her. "Here," I said, handing it over with a grin.

She read the lines, her lips curving into a soft smile as her eyes traced my hurried scrawl. "This is amazing, Ko Soe Naing! You're bound to get top marks in Burmese literature," she said, her voice brimming with admiration.

And just like that, my heart soared.

For Ma Aye Phyu, my poetry was never just words on a page. She treated each line like it held some hidden treasure. Even when I doubted myself—even when a poem felt unfinished or unworthy—her enthusiasm breathed life into it. Her encouragement wasn't just support; it was validation. And sometimes, when her excitement infected me, I ended up liking my own work more than I thought possible.

The waiter appeared then, setting down two glasses of lime juice on the table. The chilled glasses glistened, condensation pooling at the base.

"Drink up, Ma Aye Phyu," I said, nudging her glass toward her. "This'll cool you down."

As for me, I didn't wait. The heat and thirst had been gnawing at me for a while, and I downed nearly half my glass in three quick gulps. The tartness hit my tongue, refreshing and crisp. Setting the glass down, I noticed it was already half-empty.

But Ma Aye Phyu? She was different. She sipped delicately, taking only a single, modest drink before placing her glass back on the table. Most of it remained untouched.

When I glanced at her, I realized she was looking at me. Her eyes—bright, soft, and unflinchingly focused—held mine for a moment too long. My breath caught in my chest, the familiar rhythm of my heart faltering into an uneven thrum.

Her beauty was spellbinding. Those eyes, dark and luminous, seemed to hold their own kind of magic. I could feel my composure slipping away, the moment overtaking me entirely.

She didn't need to say a word. The way she looked at me, as if I was the only thing in the world that mattered—it was enough to send a wave of warmth through my chest, enough to remind me of the depths of my feelings for her.

"Ma Aye Phyu," I managed to say, my voice quieter now, almost a whisper. She didn't reply, but her gaze softened, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade, leaving just the two of us, side by side, as the river stretched endlessly before us.

Ma Aye Phyu wasn't the type of woman who demanded attention with bold stares or dramatic gestures. She carried herself with a quiet grace, a natural warmth that could ease even the heaviest of hearts. Her presence was subtle but magnetic, like a soft breeze on a scorching day—unnoticed until you felt its absence.

Before we became what we were, I used to treasure every fleeting glance from her, like a man cherishing a glimpse of the mythical Arthawadi Crimson Blossom—a flower said to bloom once in a hundred years, sought after by gods and men alike. Her eyes held that same rare beauty, and once you looked into them, they stayed with you, haunting your thoughts for days, sometimes weeks. They had a way of lingering, like a sweet ache in the heart that you didn't want to let go of.

I had told her this once, unable to keep it bottled inside. "Your eyes," I'd said, fumbling with the words. "They're so beautiful, Ma Aye Phyu. Meeting your gaze feels... feels like catching a miracle I'll never deserve."

Her reaction had been as endearing as it was unexpected. She tilted her head, concern softening her expression, and said, "Oh... is that all, Ko Soe Naing?" There was no pride in her voice, only a touch of guilt, as though my feelings burdened her somehow.

I'd shaken my head, desperate to make her understand. "No, it's not all," I'd said, my voice firmer now, the words tumbling out. "I want to look into your eyes forever. I want to feel this ache, this joy, every day of my life. Don't ever look away from me, Ma Aye Phyu. Let my heart race. Let me feel this love, no matter how much it hurts."

She had smiled then, a smile so soft it could have healed every wound I didn't know I carried. And from that day on, she granted me my wish. She met my gaze without hesitation, her eyes steady and unflinching. Each time she looked at me, it was as if she was giving me something sacred, something I couldn't find anywhere else.

Now, as we sat at the little table under the shade of the mahogany tree, I felt the familiar weight in my chest. It wasn't heavy with sadness, but with something far greater. Love. Admiration. Devotion. My heart raced, the rhythm uneven but unmistakable.

I reached for my glass, hoping the cool lime juice would ground me. The tartness bit at my tongue, refreshing and sharp. When I set the glass back down, the ice cubes clinked softly against the sides. Half the drink was gone, but the ache in my chest remained.

I glanced at her again. She was watching me, her gaze soft and unwavering, those beautiful eyes shining like the stars reflecting on the river outside. My breath hitched. How could one person hold so much beauty? How could she make me feel so much with just one look?

I smiled, helpless against the flood of emotions she stirred. If this is what it means to love her, to ache for her, to feel this rush every time I see her... then let it be so. I wouldn't trade this pain for anything in the world.