Queer platonic love is the ailaan [proclamation] that my love can form any and every shape, that it can shift, that it is beyond definition.
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Every time that I write “Hi”, he knows. We talk almost every day. We rant and keep telling each other to visit, and we hate to end each conversation with a sulking “soon”. However, there are nights when things are extremely tough, and after hours of dissecting how big of a burden I must be on my friends, how guilty I feel for emotionally dumping on them, and how I need to keep my loaded texts to myself, I allow my fingers to open his chat window after having hovered over it for a while. I type an innocent “Hi.” And he knows. He responds with “hi,”—always beginning with small letters—“what happened dear?”
This is what I’m talking about. My people know. Our love understands. They gauge everything—right from the tone and the number of alphabets used to how lonely the alphabets stand. They sniff it out. If asked, I am sure none of them would be able to tell how they do it. But they know. For me, queer platonic love is the most beautiful way two humans can come together and love each other. I believe it is the purest and most transparent form of love.
Another friend keeps reassuring me, “kuchh nahi badla hai” [nothing has changed]. We used to be lovers at one time, and that is when he told me, over and over, that I have etched a place in his heart that cannot be reduced, or replaced. That it is one of the biggest spaces his heart holds. He writes to me and for me. Gradually, he even wanted to be identified by my name. I called him by my name. I had food delivered to his house (in Patna—cities and rivers across from me) in my name. He blushed every time he received it.
Now that we are not together, I ask him, is that still it? Do you still feel the same? “Kuchh nahi badla hai,” he says, and I smile.
It wasn’t the boundaries of the romantic relationship that made us feel deeply about each other—it was us. The magic happened in the connection itself, not in what we chose to call it.
This is why, in my experience, queer platonic love has triumphed over all other forms of love. Because those of us who indulge in it, do not love in boxes. We might occasionally label it, but then we also know that language is limited, language was never created for us, that we are living examples of free, unchained love—the sort of love that words haven’t fully appreciated yet.
With him, I know it is not what it used to be, and that it still is. It is all of it. For us, love never breaks, it never just ends. It is a dynamic creature of its own—it transforms beautifully, but at its core it still is, what it always was. What it always will be.
Queer platonic love is not necessarily the same as love between queer individuals. This was taught to me by a beautiful queer friend. It does not have to be ‘deviant’ or ‘unconventional’ in nature—all adjectives associated with queerness. It is just a love which is so deep, so true, and so grounded, that it challenges all conventional notions of romance.
Queer platonic love is the ailaan [proclamation] that I will not try to look into what shape my love has formed, that any and every shape is allowed, that it can shift, that our commitment to each other is beyond defining it. It is the honest, naked confession that I have love in my heart which is so big and bright that it can consume me, but I will continue to house it, let it define me, rather than ever think of limiting it.
This same beautiful soul has given the space not just for me to reach out to them, but also for their own self to make me think of important parts of my life. “Ro lo” [you can cry], they say, calling me after I have written “I am not okay.” And they stay. Just stay, on a videocall, while they brush, watch films, fight with their mom, make up with their mom, take their never-ending string of medicines, and make chai. They stay.
Another makes me eat. “I don’t know what to order,” I say. “Order the chicken tikka signature wrap,” she responds. “But make it spinach tortilla. Go for extra cheese, because you will literally eat anything with cheese on it, and add lettuce. You’ll love it.” And she’s right.
As a queer person, the most disheartening thing to see in the world, is to have definitions concretised, maps drawn darker and darker, until we start to believe they may have always already existed.
To love platonically is to splatter a cup of water on this map, see the ink branch out in every direction, almost looking for anchors, looking for connection. To see meaning blur, to see love being made fluid. Queerness just gives a headstart to this deviance: daring to dream, daring to live.
There are gifts your queer platonic partners give you, which are invisible to the rest of the world. The gift of rest. The gift of space. The gift of a place to openly cry at. The gift of boundaries. The gift of a thousand assurances. The gift of pauses. The gift of staying. Through days and nights, staying. Staying till you want them to stay.
To have a love like this is a kindness to oneself, because I believe this is the kind of humans we were supposed to be. Instead of being contained by lines made on paper and small blue spheres, we decide. We make our own maps. We allow ourselves to revel. To experience joy without asking why.
This is a dedication to all of my queer platonic lovers. To the souls who allowed themselves what they were denied. To the souls who decided that humans are worth it: worth abandoning preconceived ideas on what is allowed, what is beautiful, and what is whole. To the souls who recognised that we don’t just have to adhere, we can create our own love stories—and lead with peace and joy and jokes and above all else, a pure will to love.
I invite you to add your own stories to ours. I invite you to imagine your friendships as queer platonic. I also invite you to love so courageously, for your heart to be so unafraid, for you to be so sure and steadfast in your resolve to love them, that the world is either intimidated, scared, or inspired. I want you to be so brave, so honest to yourself, and lastly, I want you to be fully ready to be devoured by the flame of this love. You should know that you have everything to lose. Yet, hold nothing back. Move forward with the wildest of resolve, because to live a life devoid of pure child-like love is a boring, unkind life, and you have chosen otherwise.
Every time that I write “Hi”, he knows. We talk almost every day. We rant and keep telling each other to visit, and we hate to end each conversation with a sulking “soon”. However, there are nights when things are extremely tough, and after hours of dissecting how big of a burden I must be on my friends, how guilty I feel for emotionally dumping on them, and how I need to keep my loaded texts to myself, I allow my fingers to open his chat window after having hovered over it for a while. I type an innocent “Hi.” And he knows. He responds with “hi,”—always beginning with small letters—“what happened dear?”
This is what I’m talking about. My people know. Our love understands. They gauge everything—right from the tone and the number of alphabets used to how lonely the alphabets stand. They sniff it out. If asked, I am sure none of them would be able to tell how they do it. But they know. For me, queer platonic love is the most beautiful way two humans can come together and love each other. I believe it is the purest and most transparent form of love.
Another friend keeps reassuring me, “kuchh nahi badla hai” [nothing has changed]. We used to be lovers at one time, and that is when he told me, over and over, that I have etched a place in his heart that cannot be reduced, or replaced. That it is one of the biggest spaces his heart holds. He writes to me and for me. Gradually, he even wanted to be identified by my name. I called him by my name. I had food delivered to his house (in Patna—cities and rivers across from me) in my name. He blushed every time he received it.
Now that we are not together, I ask him, is that still it? Do you still feel the same? “Kuchh nahi badla hai,” he says, and I smile.
It wasn’t the boundaries of the romantic relationship that made us feel deeply about each other—it was us. The magic happened in the connection itself, not in what we chose to call it.
This is why, in my experience, queer platonic love has triumphed over all other forms of love. Because those of us who indulge in it, do not love in boxes. We might occasionally label it, but then we also know that language is limited, language was never created for us, that we are living examples of free, unchained love—the sort of love that words haven’t fully appreciated yet.
With him, I know it is not what it used to be, and that it still is. It is all of it. For us, love never breaks, it never just ends. It is a dynamic creature of its own—it transforms beautifully, but at its core it still is, what it always was. What it always will be.
Queer platonic love is not necessarily the same as love between queer individuals. This was taught to me by a beautiful queer friend. It does not have to be ‘deviant’ or ‘unconventional’ in nature—all adjectives associated with queerness. It is just a love which is so deep, so true, and so grounded, that it challenges all conventional notions of romance.
Queer platonic love is the ailaan [proclamation] that I will not try to look into what shape my love has formed, that any and every shape is allowed, that it can shift, that our commitment to each other is beyond defining it. It is the honest, naked confession that I have love in my heart which is so big and bright that it can consume me, but I will continue to house it, let it define me, rather than ever think of limiting it.
This same beautiful soul has given the space not just for me to reach out to them, but also for their own self to make me think of important parts of my life. “Ro lo” [you can cry], they say, calling me after I have written “I am not okay.” And they stay. Just stay, on a videocall, while they brush, watch films, fight with their mom, make up with their mom, take their never-ending string of medicines, and make chai. They stay.
Another makes me eat. “I don’t know what to order,” I say. “Order the chicken tikka signature wrap,” she responds. “But make it spinach tortilla. Go for extra cheese, because you will literally eat anything with cheese on it, and add lettuce. You’ll love it.” And she’s right.
As a queer person, the most disheartening thing to see in the world, is to have definitions concretised, maps drawn darker and darker, until we start to believe they may have always already existed.
To love platonically is to splatter a cup of water on this map, see the ink branch out in every direction, almost looking for anchors, looking for connection. To see meaning blur, to see love being made fluid. Queerness just gives a headstart to this deviance: daring to dream, daring to live.
There are gifts your queer platonic partners give you, which are invisible to the rest of the world. The gift of rest. The gift of space. The gift of a place to openly cry at. The gift of boundaries. The gift of a thousand assurances. The gift of pauses. The gift of staying. Through days and nights, staying. Staying till you want them to stay.
To have a love like this is a kindness to oneself, because I believe this is the kind of humans we were supposed to be. Instead of being contained by lines made on paper and small blue spheres, we decide. We make our own maps. We allow ourselves to revel. To experience joy without asking why.
This is a dedication to all of my queer platonic lovers. To the souls who allowed themselves what they were denied. To the souls who decided that humans are worth it: worth abandoning preconceived ideas on what is allowed, what is beautiful, and what is whole. To the souls who recognised that we don’t just have to adhere, we can create our own love stories—and lead with peace and joy and jokes and above all else, a pure will to love.
I invite you to add your own stories to ours. I invite you to imagine your friendships as queer platonic. I also invite you to love so courageously, for your heart to be so unafraid, for you to be so sure and steadfast in your resolve to love them, that the world is either intimidated, scared, or inspired. I want you to be so brave, so honest to yourself, and lastly, I want you to be fully ready to be devoured by the flame of this love. You should know that you have everything to lose. Yet, hold nothing back. Move forward with the wildest of resolve, because to live a life devoid of pure child-like love is a boring, unkind life, and you have chosen otherwise.
Aanchal Seema Khulbe is a queer feminist researcher, activist, and artist. She is committed to advancing justice for women and queer communities, with a particular focus on creating accessible shelter spaces globally. Her work sits at the intersection of queer politics, restorative justice, law, film studies, and material memory—an eclectic mix that brings a nuanced, interdisciplinary lens to representation, accountability and community care. She is heard saying "the act of love is as political as it is intimate" on more occasions than you would expect.
Visvak is a writer and editor, mostly of narrative nonfiction.
Jose (she/they) is a non-binary illustrator from Kerala whose work highlights personal stories marked by gender, body experiences and their south-Indian heritage. While not lost in their sketchbook, they can be found devouring all things camp and horror.
Ankur Paliwal (he/they) is a queer journalist, and founder and managing editor of queerbeat.
