"I swear, why did you bring me in a park?" Shams groaned, tapping his feet impatiently. Kabir smiled slightly, "You'll know in a while." 
Ever since he had fought with Priti, Shams had a bad temper. Kabir sighed, rubbing his eyes. His sleep was heavily disrupted by Shams's ranting the whole night. 

That's when he got the text from Nisha. They both briskly planned to make them meet and give them a thirty-minute timeline to make up. 

He saw his best friend's distressed face and spoke, "Why do you do immature things, to begin with?"
"I... wanted to give her time. She thinks everything I do is.. disappointing."
"Not her, but everyone else does." He corrected, making Shams give him a side-eye.
"Stop side-eyeing me," Kabir warned.

Suddenly, he noticed two female figures approaching them. 
His eyes took notice of Priti, travelling to the one beside her, a soft smile dying to come out of his lips. 

"Kabi—" Shams's voice abruptly stopped and his eyes widened at the sight in front of him. 

Priti had a disconcerted face as her gaze repeatedly shifted from Shams to Kabir to Nisha as the two sisters approached the males.
"Stop, your eyeballs will fall out," Nisha muttered in a low voice, eyeing Kabir — busy staring at her like she was a mythical creature. He tried not to chuckle when Shams got up, frowning at Priti's figure, "Why is she here?" 

His head turned towards Kabir who pressed his lips, not replying. 
"You seem displeased to see me," Priti huffed, displaying equal displeasure.

Nisha and Kabir shared eye contact for a moment and looked at their dear ones. 

"Look, we'll give you exactly 30 minutes, no plus-minus a second. Sort things out within that and we want you both happy and beautiful tomorrow." Nisha spoke.
"Mind it, Shams. Be a man and do not act immature." Kabir whispered to him who frowned, "Who's not a man? And I'm not immature!" 

Priti rolled her eyes at Shams's fuming — letting him notice her judgemental gaze as he scowled, "Stop giving that look."
"Stop acting so irrelevant."
"I'm not."
"You are," Her voice was stern. 

Shams sighed and sat down. 
"Sit there, my dear sister." Nisha held her shoulders, making her sit beside Shams. She inched away from him as he arched a brow. 
"We're going then," Kabir spoke and gestured for Nisha to follow him. She sighed, eyeing the two angry figures and walked away with Kabir.

"Do you think they'll make up?" She asked.
"Shams can't stay angry. He's really... egoless sometimes." He chuckled, sitting on a nearby bench and patting the spot beside his. 
"Priti-pi cried a lot yesterday. I feel bad for them." She whispered, taking a seat beside him.

He looked around, suddenly making a face as if a thought clicked in.
"Why did your parents disagree for Priti's marriage with Shams at first? I heard a lot about it but never knew the exact reason." He asked.

"First of all, it's because of Shams's job. They probably wanted some doctor or engineer and a very rich family for Priti. God knows why they think that's all someone needs to have a happy married life." Nisha sighed, leaning against the bench. 
Kabir let out a soft chuckle, "No wonder my mom calls me a single bum."
"Why? You don't have a good job?" 
"I'm an entrepreneur."
"So you're at a loss?" 

"I attended two meetings today, what do you think?" He raised a brow, earning a soft hum from her, "Then you must be really..." 

She didn't complete the sentence. 

"Finish that line." He spoke, a demanding edge in his voice. She shrugged, "Nevermind."
"Finish it, Nisha." 
She sighed, "Fine. Maybe you just have an L rizz. That's what I meant." 
"Did you use that slang on me?" She pressed her lips at his question, nodding. 

"Seems like you love to say things contradictory to reality." He said, giving her a satisfied smile. She sighed, shaking her head at his overconfidence. 
"Are you perhaps diagnosed with delusionality disorder?" He stared at her blankly, analyzing her statement.
She chuckled, "Okay, kidding. But you say strange stuff." 
"You can't disagree though. You know better how much charm I carry." He said with full conviction. 

"I don't know and I seriously wouldn't want to either." She stated.
"Okay, we're quitting this topic," He got up with a fed-up sigh, letting satisfaction spread throughout her inner self.
"It's been five minutes and I'm done. Why are they sitting like the couples from 1520?" He asked, staring at Priti and Shams who were sitting afar from each other on the bench. 
"I honestly don't know. Ugh. They're annoying me now."

"You know what, let's go to the street food lane nearby," He suggested.
"But we should keep an eye on them."
"They're old enough to sort these out. And, which couple fights a day before their marriage? Seriously." He rolled his eyes, making her nod. She got up, "You're right. But—"
He looked at her, "Do you not want to go? It's fine too. I was just suggesting."

Seeing him look at her unsurely all of a sudden made her wonder. 

One moment he was so confident, the next he seemed unsure.

And she was glad he was trying to maintain the boundaries. That was a necessity.

"Well, I meant to say that we could go but let's text those idiots first. In case they ditch us." She spoke, smiling. He made an 'o' face and nodded. 

It was only a matter of 10 minutes when Nisha found herself standing in front of a fuchka stall with Kabir. 
"It was only 2 days ago we were stuffing fuchkas together." He spoke as she smiled, staring at the shopkeeper preparing the plates. 
"You're right." 

The shabby stalls had stained glasses, maybe the hygiene wasn't even assured. Yet, the amount of people around was crazy.

There were couples and families, some kids and elders. Everyone loved to eat street food when it came to Bangladesh. There wasn't a street food lane without people.

"I missed this atmosphere abroad," He spoke as the shopkeeper handed them the fuchka plates. He waited for her to get her plate and forwarded a shell towards her, "Cheers?"
"Fuchka cheers?" 
"Yes." He smiled. She clinked one of hers with him as they popped the goodness into their mouths. It was heavenly. 

"I love this one." She spoke, looking at it with the utmost love and affection. 
"I can't agree more."
"Usually, there are a few people who act all hygienic and avoid these foods. I don't get them sometimes." She spoke.
"I used to be one too," He confessed, making her ears perk up as she looked at him astonished.

He continued, "Well, I thought I was cool doing that but it's all until you lose what you have. That's when you realize the value of things. I realized the value of little things like this after going abroad."
"You make it sound like abroad was depressing."
"It was better in many ways, of course. I loved it there. But it's not as aesthetic as people think. At the end of the day, these shabby lanes and basic not-so-extraordinary technology feel like home. Though, there's a million reasons I have to return."

She nodded, eating and taking in the information he was sharing with her.

"So, you missed this overpopulated country with crowds everywhere?" Her question earned a soft huff from him.
"More like, in the States, you don't see people passing racist comments so casually without having a few protestors. And of course, the amount of couples there is mind-blowing sometimes." He spoke in a low voice, looking around.
She chuckled, seeing a couple getting busted nearby. 
"Look." She gestured in the direction of the chaos as he turned around, sighing.

"Why do high schoolers sneak out of tuitions to date? Poor kids." 
"When I was in high school, Maa would oil my hair and do two ugly braids. No wonder nobody dated me." She whispered, shaking her head in disappointment. He let out a chortle hearing that, "That's quite adorable."
"No, it's not." 

"If it's you then it is." He inaudibly whispered, giving her a side glance.

"Let's grab something more to eat." He suggested once they kept their plates back. 
"I'll treat you then—" She was about to take out her wallet but he hurried, paying the bill. 
"I said I could—" She was interrupted by his deep frown, "Who's older?"
"You."
"So, I'll pay." 
"I didn't take you for the 'I'm older so I'll treat you' type of guy." She eyed him from head to toe. The corner of his lips inched up as he leaned closer to her. She gulped, her body stiffening when his scent intensified around her. 
He stopped a few inches near her ear, "You're repaying me for the treat by treating me another day. It's not free, Nisha." 

She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks, feeling his hot breath slightly graze her earlobe. Her eyes tentatively met his. They reflected mischief but that died down in a moment as he moved away, "Let's go get some daal puri." 

"How many do you want?" He asked.
"One is enough." She muttered, trying to shake herself out of the delusional world she had entered a few moments ago.
"Okay, give us four." 

They watched the shopkeeper drop the round-shaped flattened dough into a huge pot filled with oil. It immediately puffed up, taking a few seconds until it turned crispy and golden. The man picked it up, straining the oil along with the other few he had dropped in the pot. 

He served two of them on each plate and handed it to them.
"I wanted only one though," Nisha spoke.
"Well, trust me but when you have one, you'll always want another." 
"How do you know that?" She frowned as he smiled at her. A smile she didn't know how to interpret. 

She bit onto the crispy golden puri, the bursts of the lentil filling earning a soft smile from her. 
"This is good." She muttered, "I know right? I am having this after so long too." 
"Did you not find any of the Bengali food abroad?" 
"You see, I did. But they were abnormally pricey and didn't taste as authentic. Only the natives know how to make the best of their cultural food, whatever you say." He leaned in closer, pouring some of the tamarind sauce into the corner of her plate. She watched him, swallowing.

He gave her a small smile, taking another bite. 

"Did you grow up in Dhaka?" She asked as he hummed, "I was born in my village. When I was 2, we shifted to Dhaka." 
"Oh. Where's your village, Kabir?" 
Nisha wondered if she was asking too much but she wanted to know more about him. 

In a way, she hadn't done before. 

A warning rang in her brain, indicating for her to stop talking. If he initiated the conversation first, then be it. But she shouldn't associate with him more than she needed to.

"My village?" He asked, looking at the sky as he finished chewing.
"Well, it's in Narshingdi."
"Oh, it's near then." She commented.
"What about you? Where's your hometown?" He looked at her, curiosity evident in his eyes.
"Did you not know Priti's hometown?" 
"Not really. Never asked." He shrugged. For a second, she doubted if he was lying. 

He didn't meet her eyes.

But again, why would he? Unless he was desperate to keep the conversation going in a way — which she was sure he wasn't.

She nodded, "Sandwip."
He looked at her, surprise evident in his eyes. 

Nisha pressed her lips, "Okay, that's an island beside Chattogram. It falls under the Chattogram district. But our dialect is slightly different in a few aspects."
"Ah. An island. That's so interesting." He spoke, an intrigued smile on his face. Usually, people would be clueless when she mentioned her hometown. He, too, was clueless but he looked interested in a way nobody ever did, his expressions were intense and almost resembled that of a child learning new information with eagerness.

Cute. 

"It's awkward, sometimes. I mean—" She was about to speak but stopped. Was she about to share again? 

Her gaze travelled from the plates on their hands to his face.

A sense of guilt gushed over her.

"You okay?" He asked, tilting his head. She hummed, nodding.
"What's awkward?" 
"Nothing... I just said it casually." 
"Okay." He nodded, keeping his empty plate aside, "Do you need a tissue?" 
'Yes, please,'  was all that she could mutter.

He handed her a tissue and got one himself as they started walking. He seemed relaxed while her heart was leaping around in her chest.
She felt anxiety build up, coating her internal organs. She fisted her hands, wondering if chatting with him about all that was the right choice. 

There was no one around to misinterpret them and create rumours. Not a single aunty nor her problematic relatives were around.

But it was herself. 

She glanced at Kabir who pointed towards the bhelpuri stall, "Let's go there, oh my god!" 
His voice became slightly muffled and her thoughts took over. 
Why was she feeling so guilty about socializing with someone? Though it wasn't wrong in any way. Maybe it was her. 

Because there was something wrong.

And Nisha wasn't sure of what.

"Earth to Nisha?!" She jolted up, hearing Kabir's tense voice. Her lashes fluttered, raising to meet his concerned gaze. 
"Oh... yeah. Sorry, I kind of zoned out." She confessed. His face turned relieved as he made a straight face, "It's fine. As long as you don't start regretting this street food haul with me." 
She watched his figure stride towards another stall nearby. 
"I won't." She whispered.

The excitement in his eyes when he ordered made her smile. 
"Bhelpuri with extra spice and one less spicy." He smiled at the stall owner who nodded, preparing their food. 
"You don't like spice?" Kabir gave her a blank look at the question.

"Of course, I do! I ordered the less spicy one for you." She nodded at his question, "But I like extra Bombay chilli spice." 
"Ah! Then, two extra spicy, please." He looked at her, giving her a forced smile.
"I didn't take you for a spice lover though. Shams said none of his friends were good at handling spice." She casually spoke, frowning once she noticed his stilled body.

"Uh... I have a great spice tolerance." He said.
She arched a brow, "Okay. That's great!" 

A smile adorned her face as they got their food. Unlike Fuchka, the shell was comparatively dense and flattened, filled with similar fillings but it tasted like a whole different world. 
Nisha bit half of one shell, smiling when she watched Kabir chewing it. 

His face was blank.

In a concerning way.

"It's good right?" She asked, earning a simple nod from him. 

A second later, she was assured he wasn't. 

"You okay?" Analyzing his face, she waited for a response but the only realization she had was that —

He was anything but spice-tolerant.