They were flying, actually flying together like kites in the air, sky gliding in harnesses with the wind gushing through their ears and their brightly coloured canopy,  attached with a sturdy three hundred feet rope to the speedboat in the sea below. The vista beneath was unbelievable, long stretches of golden sands fringed with lush palm trees, pretty little country homes, churches that looked like wedding cakes from high above, ribbons of winding road stretching through carpets of paddies, temple spires, the Cabo de Rama fort looming in the distance and on the other side the azure sea and the sun hastening its journey toward the western horizon. Both couples had spontaneously decided to try tandem parasailing on a major beach not too far from the farmhouse. Sanyukta had been suitably nervous but the others, especially Vidushi who was a regular adrenalin junkie, had been so sure about the activity that she decided to go with the flow. Having Randhir right next to her helped, and now she was really glad for being here, the thrill of adventure was going to stay with her for a long time. The ride lasted for barely ten minutes but had set their pulses racing.

By the time they finished the sun had set and cool breezes harked in the dusk, with the brightest stars slowly coming into focus. They walked around the beach with his arms around her protectively, the sand feeling warm beneath their bare feet. After some time they turned away from the beach towards their next stop, the old Portuguese quarter a little distance away, rich in its colonial style architecture and heritage villas that were surprising well maintained thanks to the affluence of its owners. They had made dinner reservations at one such home located at the highest point in town. As the car drove them uphill the serpentine route which the four-wheel drive made seem effortless offered them a breath-taking view of the old town and the sea in the quickly fading light. They had tried the ample Hindu cuisine of Goa, dinner tonight would give them the taste of the Portuguese influenced cooking of the Catholic community, famed for its partiality to ingredients like palm vinegar, pork, sausages and red meat. 

The villa that stood before them could easily be located in Lisboa instead of Goa, the walls and pillars based on red laterite stone were painted over in a lovely white and indigo blue, the roof was overlaid with red terracotta Mangalore tiles. As they were welcomed by the resident Braganza family the beauty of the ancestral home began to unfold before them in its stained glass windows and Venetian mirrors, fine porcelain that seemed imported from Macau and China and period furniture in rosewood elaborately worked upon by local artisans. Just above an ornate sofa on the wall was a Portuguese tapestry. The old wooden rafters had been painstakingly restored, only adding to the old world charm. There was even a library filled with classic leather bound volumes on art, history and religion. To one side stood an antique piano, which reminded the siblings of their own Haveli home, also filled richly with art and ornaments.

They were soon led to the gazebo in the garden where only three other tables were set besides their own, the place was exclusive and reservations were hard to make, Vidushi had only managed them with Nobin da's blessings. Their own table had a commanding view of the manicured garden as well as the rocky cliff overhanging into the sea with the lighthouse glowing in the distance. They could not have managed a more perfect location for a romantic dinner. The tea-lights on the table were enclosed by a glass shade, the cool breeze would otherwise blow them off. As the other guests were shown to their respective tables they realised they were the only Indians amongst other European tourists. The musicians began serenading them with the traditional Portuguese fado music, played on a twelve-string Portuguese guitar and a viola baixo, a version of the acoustic guitar. 

Soon the wine appeared, they were some served crisp vinho verde from Minho, Portugal, followed by the iconic Mateus rose. As the wine set the mood, the young lovers were soon close dancing to the soulful music playing in the background, and in a while the other couples joined in the dancing. His senses already heightened by the music and the wine, Randhir drew his young lover close for a tender kiss, who dreamily responded to him even as her knees turned weak, she was glad his able arms supported her well as their feet continued to keep pace with the music. As the piece played out they all applauded the musicians and took their seats when the soup from their prix-fixe menu appeared before them. It was a rustic caldo verde, made of potatoes, cabbage and greens, garnished with sliced chourico sausage. For main course there was grilled fish with salad, assado de leitao or roast suckling pig and chicken green cafreal with rice. For dessert they were served arroz doce, a rich rice pudding along with the famous bebinca and a glass of port wine. 

The music continued to play as the coffee was served and the dancing lasted some more until it was time to leave. It had been an unforgettable evening, expensive but worth every dime. They graciously thanked their hosts as they took their leave, and on the drive back to the farmhouse the lovers melted in each other's arms, no words were spoken because their lips had found their solace. Randhir wished his mother could sense the affection coursing through his veins for the girl who reclined lovingly on his shoulder without a care in the world, no gain was worth anything if he had to trade her off for it. He would do all in his might to hold on to this piece of heaven even if it meant changing the course of his intended destiny.