When Sashi Perera’s planned destination wedding fell through, she found herself embarking on a rather unconventional journey. Instead of a honeymoon, she plunged into a personal “warped version of Eat Pray Love,” dedicating her time to working with non-governmental organisations across the globe. Upon her eventual return to Australian soil, she met the man who would become her husband. Just six weeks into their burgeoning relationship, a seemingly simple question from him would irrevocably alter their path together.
This is one of many stories from our Love Stories series, which explores the diverse tapestry of human connection – from the most romantic and platonic to the deeply heartbreaking and utterly surprising. We invite you to share your own experiences with us.
In September 2018, I found myself seated in a bar, the lighting tastefully subdued, my fingers nervously tracing the rim of a trendy cocktail glass. Inside, I felt a disquieting sensation, a writhing, invisible slug churning in my gut. Across the table sat the man I’d been seeing for a mere six weeks. Things, against all my deeply ingrained expectations, were going remarkably well. Unsettlingly well, in fact.
My past dating history had conditioned me to expect the usual pitfalls: the object of my affections proving to be profoundly uninterested, already partnered, or facing some sort of legal entanglement. In my experience, the notion of “plenty more fish in the sea” felt like a cruel joke. The waters, as I saw it, were warming, polluted, and teeming with radioactive beasts.
Yet, this man possessed kind eyes and dimples that would appear, perfectly mirroring each other, whenever he shared a humorous anecdote, which was frequently. Our evenings were often spent together after work, our routines oscillating between the tranquil solitude of his studio apartment and the lively, if sometimes chaotic, environment of my seven-person share house. Even my most discerning housemate, a woman not easily impressed, conceded that this particular gentleman was “not a dog.”
The Looming Departure
Despite the promising signs, I felt it was unwise to become too attached. Even if he was a genuinely exceptional catch, I was scheduled to travel overseas for six weeks. This trip had been meticulously planned long before we’d met, conceived as a beacon of light at the end of the tunnel of my Master’s degree. I was determined not to spend my hard-earned holiday anxiously wondering about his continued interest upon my return. Until this very moment, we had artfully skirted any discussion of my impending departure.
With what I hoped was an air of nonchalance, I finally broached the subject. “I’m totally OK if you see other people after I leave,” I stated, attempting to project an image of cool detachment.
A Simple, Profound Response
The cardinal sin in dating, as far as I could discern, was to harbour excessive expectations, especially early on. In essence, expecting anything at all felt like a risky proposition. My itinerary involved traversing Botswana, Kenya, and Tanzania. Considering the brevity of our acquaintance, the vast differences in time zones, and the notoriously patchy reception I anticipated during my travels, the prospect felt akin to embarking on a five-year expedition to Jupiter.
His response was disarmingly direct. “Sashi,” he said, his brow furrowing slightly, “this is the most physically uncomfortable I’ve seen a person be in real life. Is that what you want?”
I squirmed, a futile attempt to contain the internal slug. To my horror, it finally escaped my lips in a strangled whisper: “No.”
I braced myself for an extended, awkward silence. Instead, he simply replied, “Me neither. I’ll be at the airport when you get back.”
His words were so straightforward, so utterly believable, that they dismantled all my carefully constructed anxieties. He shared my passion for travel and actively encouraged me to savour my holiday without any reservations about our burgeoning connection.
However, I’ve never been one to leave matters entirely to the whims of the universe. It seems far too preoccupied with keeping planets in orbit to concern itself with the minutiae of my romantic life. Therefore, before I departed, I discreetly hid six letters around his apartment. These were intended as tangible reassurances, a contingency should he find himself harbouring any doubts.
A Journey of Connection
Despite my inherent anxiety, the weeks spent travelling were surprisingly free of stress regarding our lack of constant contact. I never felt the need to check in, yet I yearned to connect. Whenever possible, I sent him voice notes, and he reciprocated. Every Sunday, I would send a note detailing the location of the next hidden letter. The voice notes I cherished most were those he sent after he had read my letters.
As the weeks unfolded, each voice note that traversed the vast expanse of the Indian Ocean deepened my affection for him. I relished every moment of my travels, but the night our plane began its descent into Melbourne, I gazed out the window at the constellation of lights twinkling below and felt an overwhelming impatience to see him.
I had only been living in Melbourne for about eighteen months, but a rare and profound certainty had settled within me: this was home. Both the city and the man. Charlie was waiting at the airport, just as he had promised. And we’ve been “us” ever since.
Navigating the Currents of Relationship
Of course, our journey hasn’t been without its challenges; what meaningful relationship truly is? Shortly after my return, we decided to move in together, and, to put it mildly, it was an eye-opener. He missed the quietude of his bachelor pad, while I yearned for the lively buzz of my former share house.
We hailed from vastly different backgrounds and cultures, possessed fiercely independent spirits, and were equally stubborn. It took us considerable time to learn the art of conceding ground in arguments that ultimately held little significance. It’s a skill we continue to hone, striving to become quicker at it with each passing disagreement.
Together, we weathered the storm of the pandemic, navigated through lockdowns, mourned the loss of loved ones, experienced miscarriages, underwent surgeries, and bravely embarked on the journey of IVF. These significant life events unfolded in rapid succession.
There are moments when love feels like wandering through the deepest pits of hell, yet still finding profound gratitude for the hand you are holding.
Now, almost eight years later, one constant remains: Melbourne is our home, and my eagerness to see Charlie is unwavering. This feeling persists whether he’s been away for a week performing shows or simply popped out to run errands. Every time I drive into our driveway, I experience a surge of excitement at the prospect of walking through the door and sharing my day with him. For me, that is the enduring essence of love.
