“My dear, you need to move on!” Ayesha begs me for the third time. Her impatience is glaring at me as if she is going to swallow me whole. Even then, would I be able to ‘come to my senses’? I really want to explain to her that I don’t really have an option.
“But he loves me. I know at times he really is not there and sometimes fails to fulfil his promises, but his affection for me has remained intact even after all these years,” I plead as our eyes meet. Her agitation is becoming increasingly visible over time. “But his tantrums and demands are growing by the day. It’s high time that you leave him before this relationship becomes uglier.”
“But…” I begin to protest, but she interrupts, “No ifs and buts, I am done with you. I am not going to let my sister ruin her life because she is blinded by the love of someone who doesn’t notice her or is grateful to her. We are going to get you a brand-new electric stove, one that truly looks out for you!”
So, we went to the store.
The store was like a castle: beautiful. On the second floor, the electronic stoves stood in neat rows, polished, and perhaps they were a collection of some of the most attractive stoves I have ever seen. The stoves were glowing and visible, as if they had nothing to hide.
All of them were waiting — eager, flawless, and anticipating a companion.
It’s a shame how my heart has already been taken.
Touch screen. Automatic. No mood swings. The salesman proudly proclaimed, as if it were wedding vows, as he showcased the latest and best model.
Ayesha beamed at his words as if it were all I needed: someone who brought me joy and was there for me whenever I needed him – things that make my nervous system really nervous.
“This one never turns off on you,” the salesman said confidently.
I flinched. ‘Never’ is rather exaggerated.
So, we brought the stove to my home that very evening—not that I had a choice.
Even after I begged Ayesha to stay, she still left me alone with him. Emphasising that I should give it time.
So, there we were. Alone.
Sleek and silent, it looked at me expectantly. I gathered my courage and pressed a button on the stove. And miraculously, heat instantly appeared. It worked as if I deserved love and respect without actually earning it.
I didn’t have to repeatedly light matches to attract his attention. No anxiety of having to come up with ways to win him over, which was a rather repetitive task.
It was almost unsettling the way I felt respectful. Seen…
For exactly fifteen minutes.
Then, the lights went out.
For a moment, all becomes still. The fan stopped moving. The miraculous and glorious heat vanished. It succumbed to load shedding, which I absolutely hate. But, for some reason, at that moment, it appealed to me. I realised that my sister had been wrong. We were not meant for each other. I need someone who functions with no electricity.
I said it loudly, as if he could hear me. I almost laughed. I remained alone in that silence until it turned my conviction into clarity. This shiny ‘new’ love was conditional. He only appeared when the system allowed. Otherwise, vanishing in thin air without any explanation — at least my gas stove remained, fluttering, till it had no choice but to give in. At least he fought against the system.
I glanced back at my old gas stove. And the memories drenched in guilt rush back. He wasn’t perfect — perhaps at times too much. He sulked. He made me work hard and made me feel really bad if I didn’t give him enough attention.
Yet, when the lights went out, it burned, illuminating the world around me. Quietly. He remained just as stubborn as the day we first met.
He taught me discipline: to only cook and eat when he was with me. His tantrums and failed promises reminded me of how he loves me enough to be himself with me—even if it is extremely exhausting, coupled with frequent burnouts and occasional breakdowns.
Later that day
Ayesha sighed beside me, “Are you really doing this? Getting back to him?”
“Dear, he was never replaced,” I said as I finished setting him up. “I just got briefly distracted.”
She shook her head. “Darling, you deserve better,” she tried for the last time.
“Maybe,” I replied, “but for now I need to eat.”
The electric stove remained dark as my gas stove hummed, like an ex who knows you too well for you to leave him.
That night, the dinner was warm. I realise that I have complicated a relationship that is far too fragile, much like his ego.
Tomorrow, he will test me again. But I know I’ll make it up to him. I always do. I’ll keep on apologising and keep on trying as he plays with me until he feeds his ego, but it will never be fulfilled.
Because he knows that I’ll always choose familiarity over consistency and the comfort of love. The familiarity of endurance.
Perhaps we are chaotic — drawn to each other in the name of love rooted in survival and uncertainty.
But then again, what would I be without relentlessly begging for respect and bleeding out for a love that constantly rationalises its own bad behaviour?