One of the last shots in Lover is of the same person standing on a surfboard and (relatively) securely balancing themself. The film opens with a picture of someone learning to surf and falling off the board—unsteady, afraid. Relationships are compared to stormy waves, and learning to surf is what it takes to decide whether to stay in a relationship or end one. It requires extensive practice. You give it a go once, then again, and so on, until you get the hang of things. Most love tales have a graph with various peaks and troughs, ups and downs. The first feature film by writer-director Prabhuram Vyas has a straight line as its graph. The characters Arun and Divya are portrayed by Manikandan and Sri Gouri Priya. They were in love at one time. Six years later, Divya is starting to wonder what their relationship is really about. Love: What is it? Did she ever truly fall in love with Arun, or did her attraction to him in college spark their relationship? We attend the same classes while we are confined to the same campus. We spend time with the same pals. We grieve over the same educators. Every day, we live in the same place. Our lives become entwined in a multitude of ways. Divya, however, finds a nice job after graduating and lives in a luxurious apartment with a roommate. Her wardrobe demonstrates how well she is doing. Arun's dream is to open a café. He shares a lower middle class apartment with his father Saravanan, an alcoholic, and his lovely mother Geetha Kailasam. Even if the class gap is subtle, it raises questions about Arun and Divya. Everyone is somewhat "equal" in college. But considering the circles that Divya and Arun walk in and that he moves in, would they have ever met in real life if they had not met in college? Would they actually get along? Take note of the title's gender neutrality: Lover. Arun might be the one. Divya might be the one. The movie also takes a scientific look at what happens to two people who start to lose interest in each other. After those six years, Divya realizes rather quickly that this isn't exactly a healthy partnership. She discovers that she is lying to Arun about who and where she is with. She has a best friend named Aishu (Harini steals the show in this little scene) who serves as her conscience. I believe that many of us will be reminded of the one sensible person from high school or college who talked us out of all the dumb things we wanted to do. But something prevents Divya from ending her relationship with Arun. It is comparable to the circumstances surrounding Arjun Reddy and Kaatru Veliyidai, in certain ways. They stay on—in hope, if that's how they define it—even though they know they should go on. Why is Divya starting to feel uneasy in Arun's presence? The simple reason is that he attempts to control her life and is possessive. However, if you look closer, you will see that this woman he is with is the one thing that is good in his life, and he is anxious to hold on to her. His parents' home life is chaotic. He hasn't made any college pals, unlike Divya. Divya hangs out with mixed company, whilst he has solely male friends. His lack of money makes his dreams of opening a café appear far off. Because Arun is the type of man who believes that falling in love entails getting married to that person, he gives Divya a card on her birthday that refers to her as his "pondatti," or wife. The Diva of then is ecstatic, but the Diva of now understands that being in love or—even more challenging—staying in love are two different things. By casting Kanna Ravi as the stylish, car-owning travel vlogger Madhan, the lover avoids the simple problem of presenting a third party as a romantic competitor. Madhan gives a really laid-back portrayal. Therefore, the equation would seem overly straightforward: Divya is straying from Arun because she is falling in love with Madhan, a person from her world. But Arun stays stranded, and that's also the essence of the movie. It looks to be "stuck" in one location, doing variations on the same scenarios. This is deliberate. Arun spits on Divya everywhere. He apologizes. An uncomfortable fact exists. He then urinates on her once more after that. You start to question how long she can put up with it and how she's going to stop this abusive cycle. The soundtrack and songs by Sean Roldan are a comforting salve for this broken romance. You can almost hear Arun's spirit pleading with Divya's friends to stay with him when Vilagathe plays during a scene in which they are on vacation. vilagaamal vilagugiren, vidai naan puriyaamal thinarugiren. We are hearing from her soul this time. As a counterbalance, a third voice can be heard. After Arun and Divya get married, Arun's mother hopes to move in with them in order to leave her unhappy marriage. The woman is unaware of how unhealthy their relationship is! The sensation of flux is heightened by Shreyaas Krishna's camera, which is erratic at times and steady at others. The frames are delightfully floating. Since Lover is actually more of a series of sequences centered around a subject than a "story," I had to become used to the film's rhythms over time. Manikandan and Sri Gouri Priya do a fantastic job of capturing the essence of the partnership. Perhaps since she is still so fresh, she exudes a natural reserve when speaking on camera, which keeps Divya apart. However, she lets loose during the moments of outbursts. In the scene where Arun is trying to get every bone in his body to behave itself at a gathering he isn't really invited to and doesn't belong at, Manikandan excels. A few of the humorous situations in the second part are unsatisfactory. (I would say the intensity could have been maintained, even increased, if the goal was to provide some respite from all the intensity.) In addition, despite the drama, I discovered that there were some sections that I liked better than others. Not as much of my heart was penetrated as I had hoped. However, Lover has enough good moments, such as the scooter-riding arc of Arun's mother, the distinction between the two birthday scenarios, and the reminder of the adage "only guys know about guys." This remark is said in a chauvinistic manner the first time, but the second time, Divya is given an explanation for why Arun is the way he is. Only a male could have given her this understanding. And this is the moment that made my heart hurt. I won't go into details, but why do we hesitate to let go at the very end when we have decided to move on? Why the need for the last word, the last hug? because it is simpler for the mind to absorb letting go and moving on. But in practice, it nearly forces you to reconsider when it comes to implementation. Anything from "Am I doing the right thing?" to "Will I find someone else?" might be the question. There are things Prabhu Ram Vyas does not tell us. He evokes emotions in us. And for that reason, Lover is a very fortunate debut.