A Random Desi Romance

With the expected melodrama of every romantic comedy.

We’ve all got flaws.

Mine is that I fall in love too fast.

Not love, love. Not the dance around trees, yell it out from the top of a hill, crazy stupid Bollywood kind of love. But the love that one feels when around someone where everything just seems to fit.

It’s the feeling of butterflies in my stomach, of my smile when I hear her laugh, of the thought that I don’t want our moments together to end.

It’s the moments that make me think she’s cute, even the moments that otherwise appear illogical (like carrying a pair of heels in her oversized handbag).

Where her little quirks amuse me; while with anyone else they’d annoy me (as she apologizes profusely for rushing in late for a movie).

Or the carefree way with which she enjoys the world around her (as she launches into a random pose for a photo opportunity in the middle of a street).

It’s the way she looked at me as I handed her a glass of champagne, the way she whispered in my ear throughout the movie, the way she held onto my arm as we walked down the street.

Or maybe it’s the hyperbole in my imagination, as I recreate the events of what would have otherwise been a pretty good first date.

Every time I see her, I fall victim to the intoxicating aura of her presence. And for the three days that follow, I’m frequently caught thinking of no one else. As I keep hoping I’ll someday tell her how I feel, I’m constantly reminded of the fact that we’re not together. And then I spend some time trying to forget that feeling; only to have it all come rushing back when I spot her again on a Wednesday evening, sheltering herself from the rain with an unfolded newspaper, running towards me, flashing those pearly whites.

And I find myself back in my non-existent random desi romance.

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