She glared at him as she ordered a plate of panipuris. This was their third encounter.
“Mine first,” he interrupted. “I have a meeting.”
“Then why the hell are you here?” she barked. “Go for the meeting.”
He ignored her.
I chuckled and proceeded to mash the potato.
The two had been at loggerheads from the very beginning, when his car had screeched to a halt in front of my stall, kicking up ditchwater that landed on her dress. A fight ensued and the panipuris she ordered were forgotten.
I was now serving them the puris. She was fuming.
Suddenly, a bull came charging towards us. Instinctively, I pushed my cart out of the way. What followed was a blur. When I managed to recover, I saw her on the ground, on top of him.
“Idiot,” I heard her yell at him. “It’s your damn red shirt.”
A week later they were at my stall again.
Coincidence?
I braced myself for some fireworks. Surprisingly they were quiet.
I shrugged.
“You ok?” she asked.
“Yep,” he quipped.
Silence.
“Take care,” she murmured and left.
His eyes followed her.
“Get me her number,” he whispered to me.
I winked in response.
I soon managed to procure her number.
Four panipuri sessions later, they were in love. I knew it, for they ate from the same plate.
I was proud as punch.
Just one more thing was left to do – get them to fix the wedding date – and include panipuris in the menu.
Image : iStock ( Deepak Sethi )
