It started with one sentence. I told my friend that I would like to marry someone who looks like Kushal Dubey. For those who may not know him, Kushal Dubey is a content creator from Uttar Pradesh. He runs The Asstag on Instagram and YouTube, where he creates short sketches and reels that capture the humour of everyday life. His work is witty, warm, and deeply relatable, which is why he has built a wide audience that feels connected to him. For me, he became more than just a creator on my feed. He became a face I could not forget.
It may have sounded playful, but it was not only a joke. In that moment, I was speaking a truth wrapped in humour. Like many women, I live within the practical world of arranged marriage, where families search for matches and expectations are carefully measured. Yet even in such a structured world, fantasy survives. Every girl carries an image of a partner, a face she would like to see across the dining table for the rest of her life. For me, that face was Kushal Dubey.
What happened later made the fantasy tangible. My friend was at a restaurant in Lucknow when he saw Kushal sitting there. In an act of boldness, he introduced himself and told him about me. A few minutes later, I was staring at my phone, blinking at the unexpected FaceTime call. For the first time, I was not just scrolling through Kushal’s reels on Instagram or catching up on The Asstag sketches on YouTube. I was speaking to him directly. He smiled, he was kind, and he treated me not as a stranger but as someone worth giving his attention to. The call was brief, yet its impact was lasting.
I often think about why I have a crush on him. It is not celebrity worship. I do not easily get carried away by famous names or glamorous faces. What I admire are qualities that feel real. Kushal has those qualities. He is from Uttar Pradesh, studied in Lucknow, and carries those roots into his content and presence. As someone with the same roots, I see in him a reflection of the soil that shaped me, but I also see a charisma that makes him stand apart. This combination of familiarity and distinction is what makes my admiration so honest. It is not only about how he looks but about what he represents.
His work has played a large part in shaping this admiration. Through The Asstag on Instagram and YouTube, Kushal creates humour that springs from everyday life. He notices small details that we often ignore. His sketches show the awkwardness of family interactions, the quirks of social norms, and the absurdities of modern routines. He makes people laugh not with cruelty but with recognition. That balance of wit and warmth is rare. I have followed his work for two years now, and I keep myself updated with what he is doing. When you follow a creator for that long, they become part of the rhythm of your life, and the admiration you feel begins to carry emotional weight.
The FaceTime call then was not simply a moment of surprise. It became a reminder of why crushes matter. A crush is not shallow, nor is it childish. It is a harmless crush, but it carries its own quiet importance. It is a private way of giving shape to desire. It allows us to admire qualities without needing them to become ours. For women especially, whose choices are often shaped by what families expect and what society prescribes, a crush is a space of freedom. It allows us to imagine without fear. It tells us that our wants exist beyond practicality. It shows us that attraction and admiration are not foolish but vital.
There is also a link between crushes and sexuality that deserves reflection. In many cultures, female sexuality is spoken about only in terms of marriage, duty, or reproduction. Desire is rarely acknowledged on its own terms. A crush disrupts that silence. It says, I am drawn to someone because of the way they look, the way they speak, the way they carry themselves. It affirms that attraction is not shameful but human. To have a crush is to practice naming one’s own desire in a world that often tells women to erase it. It is not rebellion in loud form, but it is resistance in quiet form.
Crushes also expand our understanding of sexuality. They remind us that desire is not only about what is available or arranged but about what sparks inside us when we see a certain face, hear a certain voice, or notice a certain charm. A crush validates that our longing is ours, even if it never becomes a relationship. For women in particular, admitting to crushes is a way of affirming that our fantasies are real, our desires are alive, and our sexuality does not exist only for the sake of marriage. Speaking to Kushal on that call reminded me of something I had almost forgotten. I had not had a crush in a really long time, and to speak to a crush, let alone someone so public, made me feel a bit more alive as a woman.
Marriage, in contrast, is where desire is often disciplined. In arranged marriage especially, families look for compatibility, status, and stability. Marriage is a contract, and my guardians will look at many things before choosing someone for me. These things are necessary, but they are not everything that fuels desire. Fantasies exist alongside these realities. To imagine Kushal as my partner was to let fantasy breathe where practicality usually suffocates it. And when he appeared on my phone screen, that fantasy briefly became visible. It may not change the course of my life, but it gave me a memory that affirms that my desires are valid, even if they live only in imagination.
The importance of fantasies should not be underestimated. They give us language to think about what we truly want. They help us connect with our own sense of longing. They also provide comfort, because in a world where life does not always go as planned, fantasy keeps hope alive. My crush on Kushal is not about wanting him literally. It is about recognising the qualities he embodies and allowing myself to admit that these qualities matter to me in love and in marriage. It is about refusing to silence the part of me that wants charm, wit, and warmth, even while navigating the serious process of arranged marriage.
When I reflect on that FaceTime call, I see more than just a chance encounter. I see an affirmation that even small joys can hold profound meaning. Desire is not always about grand love stories. Sometimes it is about fleeting moments that remind us that we are alive, that we can still be moved, that our fantasies still have space in our lives. The power of a crush lies not in whether it becomes real but in how it keeps us connected to ourselves.
I still watch Kushal’s content on The Asstag, both on Instagram and YouTube. I still admire the way he finds humour in ordinary life. And yes, I still have a crush. But now I also have a story that reminds me that my fantasies are not foolish. They are mine to name and to hold. And if anyone asks me again about my fantasy groom, I will simply say, “Well, let us just say I have already spoken to him once.”
