In physics, we are a quantum entanglement phenomenon.
In quantum physics, “entanglement” describes a relationship between two fundamental properties that cannot be caused by time. It is an invisible connection between two objects that allows them to interact in ways that classical physics cannot explain.
The Utsav meeting felt like a quantum entanglement event.
We are so different, but something at the subatomic level is bringing us together. Utsav is a free spirit who hasn’t had a regular job in three years. I am the character of an employee: fresh out of college, lost in the stress of starting over. Confident and charismatic, and he knows it. I was scared and embarrassed.
Spend your days slowly and peacefully; sleeping, playing basketball, and hanging out at the park. Me? Zoom meetings are so packed with social commitments that it’s nearly impossible to manage them without the beauty of Google Calendar.
“Did you really say that?” Those were the first words a friend said to me in a conversation that led to a discussion about our Indian-American ties. I was soon drawn into our intellectual discussion. The girls noticed that I was pulling cans out of the bucket under me.
We spent the next six hours together: on the roof, over dinner, taking in the view. At dinner, when I tried not to order every salmon roll on the menu, he psychoanalyzed me (he attributed my salmon obsession to memories of cooking with my family).
Three days later, I saw the broken glass on my front door and threw my phone (and eventually my head) through it; a night of years of anger, pain, and anxiety became unbearable.
I didn’t know what I was thinking, so I told him I was crazy and helpless. He was shy, scared, and rude. He would think I was crazy, and rightfully so. He replied, “That must feel good.”
That’s true. Actually. I’m glad to hear that news.
A few nights later, we were sitting on his bedroom floor at 3 a.m. He looked at me intently and tried to avoid my gaze as I pretended to read a book. When Utsav finally shared his thoughts with me, I took an Uber home. The problem: He had left abruptly for a month and didn’t want to get into it romantically. He wanted to meet up before he started pulling away and broke up completely.
“I think you can learn a lot from me, and I can learn a lot from you,” he said.
I thought he was a liar, and I was even more furious that he was right. Why would I say this? Maybe I want to know. Sometimes I know that if I don’t, the “What ifs” will eat me alive. Maybe I can feel in my bones that our collision will change who I am.
Not having to think about our long-term prospects is liberating in many ways. I don’t have to worry about what my friends and family will think about it or what our future together will be like. But that doesn’t take away the depth; it doesn’t mean easy tolerance.
“I worry about you too,” he said after he shared his feelings with me that night. Frankly, I don’t trust you to take care of yourself.
I responded with my usual response: I like to work out, I take care of myself (look, I worked out today), I’m with him, and everything is great. But they feel empty.
“I hope we can take responsibility for our own happiness, Shoba,” he said. – I want to be responsible for mine, and you want to be responsible for yours. Most people will appreciate your 80%, but I don’t want to solve your 80%. I want your 100%. And that only happens when you take better care of yourself.
My reaction: shock, anger, shock. How can a stranger suddenly show me something that his closest friends don’t see? Who does he think he is?
How does he know?
The more I learned about Utsav, the more I understood why he could see me so clearly: He understood my wounds because they were his; he understood my fears because they were his. I am afraid of losing myself. What can I give to someone who seems successful without me? Why does he want to be with me and not like me? My doubts permeate every interaction we have. The smallest thing—a hot dinner, a drive—turns into a battle with my self-doubt. They have become a dance for me: controlling myself to avoid mistakes, resenting my own decisions, and leaving without seeing my flaws. This is easier than continuing to face the truth.
I kept pushing him until he changed his mind, exhaling forcefully and pointing out questions I wasn’t ready to answer. Each time I was convinced that this was the end; eventually he would decide that I was not fit to fight. But somehow we found our way back to a stable state.