“You should wear skirts more often.” he says, with a bemused expression.
“Ermm… Have you really looked at them? Can’t you see the scars? The surgery, the burn mark..?” she pouts.
“They’re your battle scars. You should be proud of them.”
“I am, I only wish they’d be a little less visible.”
“They’re like dristhti pottus. They’ll ward off the evil eye from your perfect legs.”
“Could you turn down the sarcasm a notch? It’s not funny.”
“The button for that is in your head.” he says, anger slowly seeping in, his jaw set in stone.
“Okay, okay am sorry. I don’t mean to be a pain. It’s just that I’ve had a miserable day. For once, I want to be a brat too, get pampered, get indulged and all of that.”
“You’ve come to the right place then.” He says, enveloping her in a warm hug.