I first met her when I was 24, a time when I was still discovering the world and my place in it. She was 45, a visiting professor at my university, radiating a wisdom and allure that drew me in like a moth to a flame. Our paths crossed in the most unexpected of places: an ashram, a sanctuary of spiritual peace amidst the chaos of life.

The ashram, with its serene ambiance and the scent of incense wafting through the air, became the backdrop of our story. I remember the moment vividly. I was lost in thought, wandering through the tranquil gardens, when I bumped into her. Her eyes met mine, and there was an instant, electric connection. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring us together at that precise moment.

We spent hours talking, sharing our thoughts, dreams, and fears. Her voice, a soft melody, soothed my restless spirit. There was something tantalisingly enigmatic about her, an intoxicating blend of strength and vulnerability. As days turned into weeks, our bond deepened, and love took over, weaving its magic around us.

It was on a moonlit night, under the canopy of stars, that she gave me my first kiss. Her lips were warm and tender, igniting a fire within me that I had never known. In that kiss, she made me a man, awakening a passion and a sense of belonging that I had long yearned for. Our fellow mates dispersed slowly after the last session of meditation, and we walked the picturesque pathways of the ashram, hand in hand or bodies metling on to each other as we spread our excited bodies on to the lush grass by a brooke. I wish all men are lucky to have such a goddess welcoming them on to manhood.

Our love story, though unconventional, was a beautiful journey of discovery and growth. She taught me to embrace life with open arms and an open heart. She was my first love, my guiding star, and the one who showed me the true essence of being alive