Fiction 111

“You make me want to sing tapori songs for you, you know. Like jump out of bed, put on a lungi, and just sing, like those current maare type songs.” she says, snuggling in to his arm.

“You do realize you’re a fully grown woman, saying that to a man, don’t you? That’s got to be wrong, somewhere, in some world!”

“That’s what you think! What is more romantic than a fully grown woman professing her love for you this way? Most men would want something like that, you know.” she laughs.

“Well, I am not most men.” he fake admonishes, puckering his lips like a petulant child.

“And I, am not most women. You should know that by now.”

“I do. I do. Do you know how many women I meet? And how many women…”

“Stop. Yes I know. The famous Don Juan that you were.”

“And yet, none of them, none of them have ever said something this idiotically romantic to me, ever. You’re one of a kind. Maddening, but one of a kind. Why do you want to sing tapori songs for me, by the way? You never explained.”

“Because your hands. Your hands have magic. Truly electrifying, the way they affect me. Now shut up and go back to massaging my head.” she giggles



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