There is a problem in the way he talks and the way he looks at me.
His eyes open up like a child who played on a mountain of snow for the first time. His eyes are shining, like the brightest star in the darkest universe.
His words seem to touch the deepest part of me even if he stammers. I seemed to understand every slur, every blur, every pauses that he makes.
There is a problem in the way he holds me and smiles at me.
His grip is strong, like he holds his prized smartphone while walking amidst a city center, afraid of it being snatched.
His smile lights up his eyes, like an old man being visited by his children. He looks delighted, contented, even awed, every time I see him looking at me.
Yes. I know there is a problem. I don’t know what it is called. But this feeling that I have now, suggests that… Yes, there is a problem. A huge problem.