As day was fading outside, he was actually ready to leave his room along with sequence of her floating memories. Past months were hard for him; he was completely unaware about his existence after her. By walking on silent road he glanced at the moon, a fervent version of love; remembered her, smiled and damaged.
"How do you connect the dots?” she asked me while sipping her tea.Conversations with her were always driven by logic.
"You haven't really spoken much too", she pointed out next.
A moment later the waiter arrived with the bill.
"By following their sequence and...and this completes our pattern", I said writing him a cheque.
His mother, a woman of unshakable faith. Her father, from Delhi, a world traveller on ship. He was born in a small town in Bihar. She, somewhere in international waters. He studies law. She too. He starts practicing law. She practices love. He wants to have faith. She wants to travel cultures. They meet. Love happens!
The hypothesis was simple; so long you didn't turn into the crème de la crème of the gathering and shied away from the security, you had your stomach full. The six days of the week went into the six venues, permuting the order. Celebrations were his play-fields, miscibility his skill and gate crashing his sport.
The usual. The left and the right swipe. The sharing of statistics. The same questions. The same answers. Almost the same level of frustration too. The initial flutter and the meetings. It started somewhere and would not go anywhere. They both knew it. They stopped keeping in touch. The left and the right swipe continued.