| NAINA |

THE NEXT DAY...

Me: I can't believe Her Highness had finally found time to text with her bridesmaid.

I replied to my friend Meeta, a dietician and full-time crackhead.

Meeta: So sorry, bro. That was a long day.

Me: If binge-watching sitcoms and munching snacks counts, you must be very busy.

Me: So... How are wedding plans going?

Meeta: He will be coming to Amritsar with his family next week. We have to do our wedding shopping after their arrival.

Me: Meeta, there are nearly four billion "he"s in the world. Which one are you talking about?

I know that she was addressing her fiance. She never used his name. Only pronouns. Yet, life is nothing without taunting a bride.

Meeta: Don't you know him?

Me: Do I? As if you told me all about him.

Yeah. It may seem absurd, but the truth is that I still haven't met that unfortunate guy who was going to marry her. She wanted to surprise me.

Meeta: I told you that it would be a surprise.

Me: At least, drop some clue.

Meeta: No.

Me: I curse that he will rot with your burnt loaves of bread throughout his life.

Meeta: Don't jinx, Naina.

Meeta: The universe is short of men.

Me: Okay.

Me: At least he would be happy with you and your burnt bread.

Meeta: :)

Meeta: Fine, Naina! Mom needs me right now. I'll text you later. See you! Muah!

Me: One eternity later... *ROFL emoji*

While I stepped out of Meeta's chat box, my mind tried to remember the events of the previous night. I couldn't remember anything except meeting Angad and gulping down shots while bad-mouthing Richard.

As I tried to remember more of it, a sentence which was uttered by me appeared in my mind like a flash.

"Good night, love!"

Fuck! I called him "love". Seriously! No way. I knew that I was dumb, but not dumb to this extent.

Hoping that I don't nothing more awkward than this, I opened Angad's Instagram account to text him. And yeah, @drsharma13 has a decent amount of followers and posts.

Angad Sharma

Doctor
Single
F.R.I.E.N.D.S. fanboy
Social battery: - 1%

What followed was a series of posts with his friends and colleagues. And yeah, he had a photogenic face indeed.

Mustering courage like a suicide bomber entering a political meeting, I texted the hardest two-letter word in the English language.

Me: Hi.

I felt like I didn't need any introduction since he knew my account.

I rubbed my eyes twice as I received the message from Angad the next moment I texted him. Like, who else could be this fast?

Angad: Hi, Naina! Good morning. How do you feel now? Are you okay?

I texted him one word. He gave me questions for which I must reply for one hundred pages.

Me: I'm sorry.

Angad: Why?

Me: For what happened last night. I knew that I was a huge trouble to you.

Angad: That's okay, Naina. You were a sweet trouble, though.

Who asked him to opt for surgery as his branch? If he had chosen psychology, the USA would have seen a huge dip in the number of suicides.

Me: That's sweet of you! I think I should treat you someday.

Angad: Why someday? We can make it tomorrow, right?

Wow! This guy needs some speedbreakers for sure.

Angad: Like, we can meet tomorrow only if you are free.

Me: Where?

Angad: Anywhere.

Angad: Just the two of us.

Me: Well... Okay.

Me: But where?

Angad: Well... There is this café at Munirka Vihar. Google Reviews say that they're great and quirky. Shall we go there?

Me: Fine! I will go with your call.

Angad: Can't wait for more. ;⁠)

Angad: What time?

Me: I'll be at six in the evening.

Angad: Great!

Angad: Can't wait to meet you. ;⁠)

Is it just me who feels that his texts are coated with some cryptic emotions?

***

THE NEXT DAY...

"Hi!" I gave him a side hug as he entered the cafe.

"Hi!" He broke the hug not before patting my back and whispering, "Are you okay?"

Nodding a yes, we sat opposite each other as he asked, "Did you order something?"

"Not yet." I smiled and pulled down the hem of my black satin mini dress.

As our eyes fell on the sole menu card on the table, we heard the waitress asking this on cue. "Excuse me. What would you two like to have?"

Our hands reached for the menu card, and after looking at it, I requested, "One plate of Golgappa."

My eyes widened at the realisation that it wasn't just me who asked this.

Angad and I locked eyes with each other as hues of pink and red chose to paint my cheeks with the help of the rushing blood and hormones playing a catalyst.

A few minutes passed away in our solitary silence while the waitress approached us with two plates of Golgappa. She placed it on our table, exclaimed, "Bon Appetit," and went to a teen couple who was a table away from us.

I found the inner kid in me as five deep-fried breaded spheres stuffed with mashed potato, onion, and coriander with a small glass of a greenish liquid used to pour into the spheres and relish it was looking back at me.

My satisfaction increased from pouring the liquid into the sphere to carefully placing it into my mouth and munching it fervently. I closed my eyes, without caring about what was happening outside, and cared more about the pitiful veggies that were yet to become the victims of the acids in my digestive system.

I opened my eyes and saw my date throwing daggers from his eyes. I raised my eyebrows out of confusion while his eyes went wide. He asked, "Are you done?"

"Done with what?" I shrugged my shoulders.

"Your Golgappa." He pointed his chin at my plate.

"Ummm... I just had my first one. Try this, Angad. You don't have to be shy in front of me." I scrunched my nose and sounded like a strict parent who suddenly became liberal.

"I wonder when you will learn to thank others." He scrunched his nose out of exasperation, which evaporated out of his face and transformed into a silly chuckle.

"Why thanks between us? Magic words are meant for strangers, isn't it?" I smiled wide, trying to melt him with it.

Only to regret it hard inside.

The left corner of his lips moved out of ignorance as he decided to have his first Golgappa. Before introducing it to his digestive system, he pointed high at me and said, "Cheers to our new lives!"

He knew about myself and Richard. Duh, it's not some deep secret to keep it under wraps.

Throughout the five Golgappe, we discussed the ample of shits we have faced in our lives and those we were yet to face.

Notes about Angad Sharma:

1. He hates arranged marriages.
2. He loves The Beatles.
3. His initial plans were to opt for psychiatry, instead of surgery (can't believe that I guessed it right).
4. He has an aversion to his senior.

As the waitress approached us with the bill, I was rummaging through my sling bag for money when I saw Angad- as if waiting for the waitress- drawing his purse out of his pocket and grabbing the bill.

I, noticing his unusual urgency, asked, "Why are you paying the bill, Angad? I can take care."

"That's fine, Naina. It's my treat." He gave the money to the waitress while shooting a generous smile.

"At least, tell me the cost, Angad!" I insisted, my heart wrenching a little at seeing my guest pay money for the bill.

"That's not your issue. It's my treat, and I paid for it."

What a gentleman is this guy! I'm sure the one to marry him is the luckiest girl in the universe.

***

Hello, peeps! I want to ask you a question. What do you think about Angad? Please drop your views in the comment section, guys!

See you soon!

Song Courtesy: Sajan Bin from Bandish Bandits.