He didn't look nervous. There was a certain untouchable calm on his face that didn't match my own trembling self. My mom invited them inside the house, had them seated, he and his mom. I peeked though the little opening in the kitchen outwards to the hall. I wondered why his calmness should surprise me. Hasn't he always been that way - calm, composed and confident.
Momentarily my eyes drifted from his face to the freshly fried samosa, that were being picked out of the
kadai (wok) by my sister, arranged religiously onto the platter, neatly aligned, triangular crisp garam masala scented pastry. Should I eat one? I contemplated and decided against it. The flaky pastry might get stuck in my teeth I feared. My younger sister, went looking in the pantry for vintage tea saucers, that only came out for special guests. Oddly, the golden rim and dainty floral design with blushing rose pink roses matched my own dress.
.jpg)