Reliability and Romanceability - a Short Tale

"Do not trust a charming man", her mother had said, many years ago. "Such men are not reliable".

She had laughed it off back then, for the men she had come across so far hadn't impressed her. Busy with literary pursuits, she had ignored the men who had tried to pursue her. Ignored their clumsy, yet sincere entreaties for her favors. Men are a waste of time, she had thought. But one spring morning when he came along, the earth had suddenly blossomed, and the grass looked greener. Her heart raced, trees burst into bloom, and the gentle touch of rain on her skin made her ecstatic....And the charming, poetic man had swept her off her feet. Her young heart had been too naive, and had forgotten her mother's warning in the first flush of love.

He dumped her by the wayside some months later. So much to learn, he had said....so much to explore, to experience. It was not fair for him or for her to be tied down to one person. So in fairness to her, he said, he had to leave. She had bid him goodbye, unshed tears in her eyes.

She realized then, what her mother had meant. Charming, romantic men weren't reliable after all. What a fool she had been!

She turned her heart away from the poets, and the romantics. Her own poems turned bitter, then stopped altogether. She now paid more attention to the reliable men, the trusty, nervous characters who couldn't string a sentence to woo her even mildly, but who were genuine, worked hard and wouldn't let her down.

She found a man who was sweet, whom she liked and respected. Said yes when he proposed. A little voice whispered, "But what about love?". Bah, stuff for poetry, she had replied. Not for real life.

Today her reliable husband goes to work, comes home to her and is a good father to their two children. She has grown to love him, and what he represents. Life has taken on a stable, steady pace. Stability is good....no more rumblings of the heart, none of the wild passion that had marked her whirlwind romance. Too much passion is not good for the heart anyway, she told herself - or for her blood pressure.

Then one night she is awakened by the sound of rain. She opens the window and the damp wind comes in, bringing with it the scent of jasmine flowers. Poetry returns to her soul in a powerful rush, and she wakes her husband. He gets up with a quizzical look.

"What?" he stares at her, uncomprehending. Then gives her a sleepy smile.
"Oh - the rain. Jasmine flowers...ummm, you woke me up for that? You're crazy lady", he mumbles, not unkindly - and goes back to sleep.

For a fleeting moment she thinks of the poetic man who had been in her life. The magic of first love - how the air seemed to vibrate to a rhythm she never knew existed. She sighs, then catches herself. That's ok, she tells herself as she tries to go back to sleep - romantic men aren't reliable anyway.