What I don’t know can’t hurt me– I’ve gone that route before. Do I want to try it again?
Yes, his eyes are the shade of burnt caramel, that darken when I’m around. He is gorgeous, shy, ten years younger, everything I want.
When he rubs lotion on my legs, the frissons on my skin make me want to take things further.
Character storyboard Anjali Menon
This Delhi winter makes your skin dry, he says. Take care of your skin, it is what makes you beautiful. Beauty is not skin deep, I say, kissing his full lower lip. You never know, he says, and his lop-sided grin makes me want to drag him to the bedroom.
I don’t. We’ve only just met, and if he is pacing it, so should I. Boys love the chase, only I wish he’d hurry up. And marrying a chef is exactly the sort of thing I would advice me, if I were my own therapist. I need nurturing. This is what they warn us against in my profession– psychiatrists analyse everyone, themselves, most of all. So stop it already, Ms Anjali Menon.
But why do I sometimes feel his smile switches on a milli-second too late, that his kiss seems like he taught it to himself, that his face is sometimes a mask that moves? And when I catch him staring at me, I step back as if blown back by an autumn gust of wind?
Sometimes the quietness of his gaze frightens me. There, I said it.