It all started on a night like no other, at a very classy, highly intellectual establishment—the kind of place where people gather to engage in deep, meaningful conversations and definitely not to move in sync with flashing lights and a great playlist.

That’s where I saw Alina. There was something about her—maybe the effortless way she carried herself, maybe the energy that seemed to pull everyone toward her. Whatever it was, I knew I had to introduce myself.

So, I leaned in, smiled, and confidently asked, “Hey, are you Bengali?”

She glanced at me, as if deciding whether I was even worth acknowledging, then delivered a response so effortlessly dismissive that it didn’t even need words. It was polite, yet devastating.

Now, most would have taken that as their cue to call it a night. But somehow—whether it was my unshakable persistence, undeniable charm, or sheer refusal to blend into the background—she eventually talked to me.

And now? Here we are, still moving together, but this time, it’s for life.

Moral of the story? Sometimes, all it takes is a little patience, a little rhythm, and the right person to finally turn toward you.