When my boyfriend Indra and I went up to Edinburgh to spend the final days of summer last weekend, the last thing I imagined we would be doing in the Scottish capital was climb a hill 200m above sea level.

Ah, but then I had reckoned without my self-styled Nepali 'mountain man', who hopped and skipped his way up the city's Salisbury Crags while I could only crawl like a crab after him.

As I clutched clusters of wild grass to gain a foothold here and there, he teased: 'You cannot be Mrs Gurung if you don't make it up here. This is a simple trail, really.'

How about I hang you upside down from this cliff, I thought before calling out to him: 'After all that we have been through, do you think a hill can stop me?'

But then kind and tender Indra had a point, because I watched toddlers, grandmothers and sheepdogs clamber past me without much ado. And he could not have known that I have such a fear of heights, I still cannot bring myself to climb the steps of an overhead bridge.

But love wills one to dare for the sake of others. And so it was that an hour or so later, I found myself full of joy just gazing at Indra running barefoot through the grass at the summit and then rolling about in it.

'Gosh, now I can feel earth under my feet after three years,' said this man, who was a Himalayan trek guide before he became a business journalist.

The son of farmers in Nepal's central district of Sindhuli, he would walk unshod through his parents' padi fields until the daily grind of being a reporter in Kathmandu put paid to such bliss.

How we went from being coursemates to companions for life in nine weeks is a miracle which even my mind at its liveliest could not have dreamt up. But somewhere between our early chats in the laundrette and later walks along the river, we came to see that we were born to care for each other.

He takes apples to class every day so I, who cannot eat sugar, will always have something to snack on and not be left out when tutors and coursemates pass cake and cookies around.

And I, the gal who used to burn even soup, am now stewing and stir-frying our evening meals like the best of them.

Of course, ours is a young love and as Indra puts it, we could not have the days without the nights. Thus are we braced for the struggles and sorrows to come, not least during the months we will have to be apart until we settle our separate lives so we can then be as one.

Can we be as one for better or worse, you ask? Well, in our first fortnight in Cardiff, we saw each other, bleary-eyed, scowly and in rumpled pyjamas, many times after we had to run out of our apartment block because the ultra-sensitive fire alarm kept going off past midnight.

We're still here, together.

For richer or poorer? Neither of us has very much to call our own, but then neither of us wants very much really, to begin with.

In sickness and in health? When I had sunstroke after insisting on lying in the long grass atop Salisbury Crags, Indra's ministering had me up and moving on before long.

And a few hours later, when all that running barefoot through squelchy grassland gave Indra a fever, I prayed for long minutes as I sponged him with ice-cold water from our hostel tap. His fever soon cooled.

Till death do us part? He knows how close I have come to leaving this world in the past eight months. I know how hard he is hurting from a recent road accident. We are taking it a day at a time.

My mother has SMSed me to say she loves Indra's laugh. I have only heard his mother's warm, feisty voice over the phone, but I love her already.

So, blessed by our respective families, we are getting engaged today, with our closest coursemates looking on.

Wish us luck, won't you?

This article was first published in The Sunday Times on Aug 31, 2008.