Beyond the noise of perfection

There’s a certain comfort in the familiar, the kind that makes one yearn for it, that wraps around you like a warm blanket on a chilly night. It is this familiarity with normalcy that makes us feel at ease, convincing us that this is how things are meant to be, not some distorted alternative. In a world increasingly obsessed with curated images, highlight reels, and performative existence, the simplicity of the ordinary becomes a rare luxury. The ordinary carries with it an authenticity that no filter can replicate, a purity that no perfectly posed photograph can capture. It is in this space of unadorned reality that true human connection finds its most fertile ground.

We might be the last generation to truly grasp how twisted social media has become. We might be the last to understand what it means to love someone who isn’t broadcasting a curated version of themselves to the world, but rather shows their truest, most vulnerable self. With every passing year, the line between real and performed blurs even further, as people strive to fit into an algorithm’s expectation of perfection. Relationships, too, are becoming exhibitions rather than experiences — something to be showcased rather than nurtured. Our generation may be the last to put in the effort to truly comprehend the essence of a person we wish to spend our lives with. To learn the subtle language of their silences, to observe the small, unspoken habits that reveal their deepest self — that is becoming a lost art. 

Social media has crafted an illusion of the perfect partner, an obsession with capturing and sharing that flawless Instagram or Facebook moment. People today are fixated on presenting their partners as paragons of beauty and perfection, often overlooking the deeper, more meaningful aspects of their character. In this race to present an ideal, many forget that true beauty often resides in imperfection.

This is where I found you, where I consider myself fortunate. You stand apart from this superficial world. In you, I found a quiet rebellion — a resistance against the manicured, pixel-perfect existence that seems to consume so many. Social media has indeed tainted our lives in countless ways, which is probably why neither of us indulge in it. We recognise its power to create false perceptions and demands. We know its seductive pull towards validation, its ability to inflate egos while starving the soul. I sincerely hope our children never fall prey to its grasp. I pray they grow up learning to value a person not for how many likes they receive, but for how they treat others in moments unseen.

When I first met you, though not in a romantic setting, I was captivated by your presence. There was no grand cinematic moment, no swelling music in the background. It was an ordinary day, perhaps even mundane to the casual observer. Yet, for me, time seemed to momentarily pause. Despite knowing each other for some time, seeing you up close made me realise how endearing it is to be genuinely human, unpolished and real. I can’t begin to describe how beautiful you looked that day. Your hair was loose, perhaps freshly washed, with a few grey strands forming graceful waves from your forehead to your shoulders. Those silver strands didn’t mark age or fatigue; to me, they were symbols of experience, grace, and quiet strength.

You wore a hairband around your left wrist, stray hairs caught around it as if you’d been struggling with hair loss remedies. It’s funny how something so trivial could feel so intimate. Your skin was dry; you were biting your nails—a habit so endearing as you spoke. No lipstick or mascara adorned your face; only your eyes shone brightly alongside the delicate pearl earrings you wore. You didn’t need the synthetic touch of cosmetics; your authenticity radiated a beauty far deeper. I can’t recall our conversation’s topic; all I remember is being utterly lost in admiration of your raw humanity.

Over the following months, this beautifully flawed human won my heart completely. We worked together, debated fiercely over trivial matters, shared countless meals, burped unapologetically in each other’s company, snored while waiting for cabs, and even drooled on each other’s shoulders after long exhausting days. There was no pressure to perform or impress, no fear of judgment. Amidst all these moments, we fell deeply in love. Our bond was so strong that external appearances became irrelevant. The foundation of our relationship was not built on momentary perfection but on sustained understanding.

Yes, there were times we dressed up and tried to impress each other, but those efforts never overshadowed our comfort in each other’s presence. It was our souls that connected deeply beyond any superficiality. In those moments together, we realised that normalcy is profoundly underrated—and therein lies its true beauty.

What people often overlook is that love isn’t found in grand gestures alone; it lives in the small, consistent moments that fill everyday life. It is found in the shared laughter over an inside joke, the gentle silence of simply existing together in a room, the understanding glances that replace words. Love thrives in the way you brewed my tea exactly how I liked it after a tiring day, or how we would sit on the balcony, lost in our own thoughts yet tethered by an invisible string of comfort.

We weren’t two people performing for the world. We were simply ourselves, unconcerned with external validation. We both knew that love isn’t about constant fireworks; sometimes it’s a steady candle that keeps burning even when the winds outside howl.

I remember those quiet evenings when you would hum absentmindedly while folding clothes, or the mornings when your hair would be an unruly mess and you’d grumble about needing coffee before functioning. I loved those moments — perhaps even more than any staged photograph could ever capture. They reflected the real you, the you that only a few were privileged to witness.

Even in our disagreements, there was a strange kind of comfort. Arguments never felt like battles to win but rather like storms we both braved, knowing full well that the skies would clear and leave us stronger. In a world obsessed with broadcasting picture-perfect romances, our messy, imperfect, beautiful reality was the true fairy tale.

And as time went on, I became even more grateful. While the world continued to march towards artificiality, we grew gardens while others collected followers. We built a life that didn’t need an audience, only each other.

The very fact that you were willing to be vulnerable with me, to allow me to see you at your rawest and most unguarded, was a greater gift than anything I could have imagined. In you, I found someone who chose reality over illusion, depth over decoration, substance over spectacle.

In many ways, I often think we are both anomalies — relics from a fading era where people still cherished handwritten notes over text messages, phone calls that stretched late into the night instead of heart emojis sent absentmindedly. We are among the last who understand that love is not an exhibition, but a lived experience — private, imperfect, and yet deeply fulfilling.

Even now, when I look at you across the room, with your hair loosely tied, wearing your worn-out sweatshirt, eyes half-closed with sleepiness — I feel that same pull I felt the very first day. You are beautiful. Not in the way magazines define it, not in the way influencers portray it — but in the truest, most enduring sense of the word. Your beauty is in your resilience, your laughter, your compassion, and the thousand little quirks that make you, you.

If ever our children were to ask us what love feels like, I wouldn’t speak of grand declarations or cinematic romance. I would tell them of the countless evenings spent in comfortable silence, of the shared glances that spoke louder than words, of the simple act of holding hands under a blanket while the world outside rushed by.

Because in the end, love is not found in what the world sees, but in what only the two hearts feel — raw, imperfect, and beautifully normal.