Five months into our relationship and our first quarrel was conducted in absolute silence- rather anti-climatic, really.

We walked quietly.

He tried to hold my hand, I resisted.

He tried to hold my hand, I resisted.

He tried to hold my hand, I resisted.

He tried to hold my hand, I relented.

He let go of my hand.

I caught hold of his hand before it fell to his side.

I had this memory playing inside my head, of how I took up a whole row of empty seats on the plane, including his lap, and drifted off to dreamland, while he slept squashed stiffly to the side, legs together, his head leaning uncomfortably against the shut window.

At one point he woke me up by repeatedly poking my cheek, "Oei. Why are you grinding your teeth??"

"Huh? Dunno... ..."

When the plane was about to land, I woke up wondering why I was chewing on something really soft. And then I realized that I was chewing on his finger, that he must have slipped it into my mouth to stop me from biting myself.

He could have put something else in you know, like, erm, a chopstick, or a fake fat lizard (I'm terrified of lizards).

Awwww... I thought. What's there not to love? I'm at the peak and it can't get any better than this :)