Let me narrate a delightful story.

A foolish man decided to bury his feelings down to a pit - a junk hole filled with untold possibilities.

At first, he harbored the slightest tinge of fondness towards a lady whom he ever predicted that he wouldn't with. After all, she wants him hurting and weeping during their initial encounter. She was a deviant. Yes, was. For, as time progresses, he somehow learned who might she really be – sides of her which he was enlightened from. She is playful. Partially deviant but exceptionally divine. But along with the time that he's been discovering her, his feeling of antipathy towards her subsided down to rock-bottom and was replaced with what he considered a sacrificial enjoyment, because for him, despite the bundles of time he spent with her, she had remained stoic. His feeling for her was not of worthy to her - that's what he thought.

Then, came a time that the minuscule of a feeling had polished into something he considers as an augmented burden. He was unaware when it started, how it happened, and what it meant.

Truly, it was oppressing him. It creased his ways of undistorted thinking. Why? The thought of falling in love may mean either from two extensive things: affirmation or rejection. Each conveys a great value. The former introduces a potential advancement of his relationship with her while the latter concludes a strong regression of what he was left with her.

Now, what he should pick when nothing is offered for a third option – that neutralizes everything? Silence. He chose it. But it did him no better with the tyranny of what love brought him. His irrevocable affection tormented him further than his endurance capacity.

Frustrated as he was, he wants to blanket out the ignorance that’s embedded within his name and rebuild himself as a wise man.

Finally, ‘I’ told my Mistress, “I love you, Nana.”