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Fast and Steady, The Love I Didn’t See Coming

  • shabip
  • Aug 1
  • 4 min read
July 29th 2023 <3
July 29th 2023 <3

I think I’ve been looking for stability for as long as I can remember.

I had some, sure. A roof. A routine. A mom who gave everything.

But we were always moving. Not because of life calling us forward, but because my dad was always pulling away.

We moved every time he left. And when he came back, we moved again.

Not just across cities, but across countries.

I was born in Iran. Raised in Canada. Then back again. Then back again.

It was never truly settled. Never soft. Never safe for long.

My dad is a deeply complicated man.

He’s brilliant. No one can take that from him. An intellect in the truest sense, sharp, strategic, the kind of mind that makes rooms go quiet. He can run circles around most people in his field.

But brilliance doesn’t make you good.

And it definitely doesn’t make you kind.

We could have had it all. I mean that.

But instead, he robbed us of things you can’t return.

Pieces of my childhood. My siblings’ too.

My brother stepped up long before he should’ve had to. He filled shoes that didn’t belong to him. Quietly. Fully. Without a word of complaint. He’s the kind of man everyone loves. Seriously

I’ve had friendships fall apart and still heard, “But I love your brother.” Like yeah, I know. Who doesn’t?

He walks into a room and people soften. He’s calm. Solid. And now he’s a father to the sweetest little girl. I watch him with her and feel something in me being rewired.

And my sister that’s a whole story of strength on its own. I won’t tell it here. That’s hers. But just know, she’s been through more than most people could ever imagine. And she’s still standing.

All of us are.

And after years of heartbreak, years of learning the hard way what love is not,

I met Adrian.

My person. My mirror. My home.

He gets me in a way that feels like magic but isn’t.

It’s real.

Earned.

Lived in.

His entire life mission seems to be my happiness.

And I don’t say that lightly.

Before him, I was in a relationship that drained me. Not because he was cruel, but because I was far from everything that made me feel like me.

Far from home. Far from my people.

And when I couldn’t go back as often as I needed to, when I felt stuck, lonely, unseen,

I started to resent everything around me. Even Toronto.

Eventually, that ended. And life moved.

One night a friend was visiting. We went downtown with a group of her people. A lot of drinking. Not my scene.

Drunk energy makes me itch. Maybe because I’ve seen what it can become.

My dad used to drink. And when he did, he became someone I didn’t recognize.

So I sat with my back to the group, not trying to be rude, just trying to breathe.

People watching, in my own little bubble.

And then he walked by.

Adrian.

Wearing a tracksuit, the only one in the place not dressed up, moving through the noise like it didn’t touch him.

I swear I broke my neck doing a double take.

He looked like trouble, but the kind that makes you feel safe, the kind that makes you curious.

He walked up to me and said, “Wow, you look like you’re having so much fun.”

I wasn’t. Not at all. And we both laughed.

We talked. Just a little. Just enough to exchange Instagrams.

I was supposed to be moving back to BC in a few days. Wasn’t looking for anything.

But Adrian had this pull.

He didn’t have to try hard, but he demanded energy just by being there.

With his quiet confidence and that perfectly symmetrical face (yeah, I noticed).

Every day that week he showed up. Took me somewhere new. A different restaurant. Bowling. The beach. Sunsets.

I asked him why me, but not because I’m self-conscious. Honestly, I’m a pretty confident person overall.

I asked because I really wanted to hear what he had to say.

We’d only spent three or four days together, really.

And he said, “Because you drove my car. And it’s standard. I never let anyone drive my car.”

I was crying laughing. That’s what did it. That’s what made me the one.

When I left, I thought that would be it. But then he got on a plane his very first flight just to see me.

He’s terrified of flying. But the first time? He didn’t fly.

He drove.

Toronto to Vancouver, in the middle of winter, two and a half days, because of me.

Eventually, he moved to BC. And I needed my family and friends to meet him, to feel him.

And they did. In minutes.

I’ll never forget my mom looking at me and saying, “Adrian doesn’t even notice anyone else when you’re in the room.”

She said it like an exhale, like her shoulders could finally drop, like she knew I was safe.

And that’s what he is to me.

Safe.

We built a life. Got engaged on FaceTime. Did long distance. Bought our first place. Moved back to Toronto.

Now we’re six years in, going on seven.

It’s not perfect. But it’s healthy. It’s easy in the best ways. It’s full of effort and joy and calm.

Our families love each other. His mom is incredible. She spoils me and Rahmi without asking. Loves hard and openly.

And some days, when I look at the life we’ve built, I still get that flutter, that slow, steady feeling like:

This is what it’s supposed to feel like.

In the next post, I’ll take it back.

To being that little girl from Iran. To growing up Persian in Canada. To identity. To confusion. To belonging nowhere and everywhere at once.

That story’s next. And it’s a heavy one. But I’m ready.

For now, this chapter belongs to love.

The kind that shows up quietly, that takes the long way through a snowstorm, that stands at your door and simply says:

I’m here.

 
 
 

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