“Acha, listen, promise me something?” she asks.
“Not like this – give me your hand and then do it.”
“Okay.” He says, and extends his hand, for her to hold.
And five minutes pass. And then ten.
“I thought you wanted me to promise you something.” he whispers.
“Nah, not really. I just needed a bahaana to hold your hand. That’s all.” she giggles.
“You’re impossible.” he sighs. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Nothing. Your hindi sucks”
“Nonsense. Tum joot bol rahi ho. Muje hindi bahuth accha maaloom hai…”
And the infamous giggles start.
“Are you drunk?” he asks.
“Yes, drunk on your loouuve.”
“Don’t get angry now. You know I was only kidding.” she says.
“Me? Angry? I never get angry. I don’t even know what anger is!”
“Yeah right. If I combine your name and anger, it will become an oxymoron no?” she asks.
“Why are you calling me a moron, now?”
She sighs. And wraps him in a bear hug. “What am I going to do with you?”