(Well, here it is! The second half of the cute young man's side of the story, and the last part of the series. [Do I hear sighs of relief and shouts of "Finally!"? ]

Thanks for sticking through this with me!)

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2010

                Our correspondence had lasted for 5 years now. I had a clear view of what this woman stood for, and I admired what I saw, nonetheless I was still quite happy to remain friends for the time being.  But alas, I was a guy, i.e. oblivious, ignorant of the glaring signs she was hurling my way. The huge neon light was flashing right in front of me, but I just traipsed along with my proverbial blinkers on. Little did I suspect: she was ready.


2012

                “Wah, so 3 of your best friends are getting married this year.” A not so subtle insinuation from my mom, in thattone of voice that I knew all too well. I was 28: still single, still a big fat zero on my relationship counter, probably approaching basket case by some standpoints, plus a few “are you gay?” jibes from my irreverent friends for good measure. No, I was just waiting for the right girl, even if it meant being single at 28. She was starting to pop into my head everyday. Yea, everyday. It was a day after my best friend’s wedding that I was to fly out to India for a company trip for a fortnight. I couldn’t take it anymore: on the whole of week 2, I shut myself in my hotel room after work in the evenings. I won’t pretend that I’m a super spiritual person who can pray for hours, but this time, I needed an answer from God. TV, internet, even music – I cut out everything in one desperate attempt for a clear sign. But no answer.

One Sunday evening soon after getting home though, an old childhood friend – who knew the both of us – called me out of the blue. He gave me the low-down: “It’s time to get moving. If you don’t, you’re going to lose her.” That was all I needed to hear. So, the answer turned out not to be in the form of a divine voice thundering down to me - it was a kick up the rear from an old friend.

                A nervous drive up from Malacca to Subang, a pensive night spent talking things out with said childhood friend till five in the morning, and an antsy morning of confiding in another close friend brought me to the afternoon of May 17th. My heart only beats this fast after a lung-bursting run, but there I was sitting completely still in my car waiting for her, and it was going berserk. I tried to rehearse a speech, but all I managed was gibberish – I was going to have to just wing it. Maybe God, by now, had become a little annoyed by my tardiness and decided, “Oh no you don’t. Let’s have some fun and see what you can come up with on the spot.” What I came up with, reader, I’m afraid is only for Charmain and I to know, but you can take my word for it: it wasn’t very eloquent. I finished my speech; I waited for her answer. And so, all the years, all the e-mails – thousands of words flung back and forth through cyberspace, the awkward hellos, the waiting and wondering, the praying,  it had all led up to her answer:
                “What took you so long?”
And that was that....

                I thought it would be awkward to begin with, I thought it would take time for us to be comfortable being together. I thought wrong. We were barely able to predict the depth of emotion lying beneath the surface – prudently held in check all these years – waiting to be expressed. Words fail to describe what this woman has done to me: she has captivated me, heart and soul. I know now that I caused her years of frustration, waiting for me. I saw for myself as the tears flowed one night, and it cut me to realise what I had put her through. But wait for me she did, and I will never be able to thank her enough.

                Perhaps you, reader – being a close friend or maybe a relative of Charmain – would wish to tell me to take care of her, because you want me to realise what a special girl she is, and that I don’t know how lucky I am to have her. All I can say is: don’t worry, because believe me, I know. I know.