How their goose was cooked

All it took was one conversation.

Yes, it was very contrived. Why? Because set-ups are to be balked at. So, while there are true cynics out there, there are also romantics who walk around with a big cloak of cynicism, like these two. Romantics who believe in chance meetings who want to behave like the cynics who will never believe that the person on the other side of the phone could be someone that will become an integral part of their lives in future.

Of course, the operative word in “boy meets girl” is supposed to be “meet”. Who would have thought that loving, even if it was a bit, would begin on the phone itself? 

Not these two.

So the conversation began with a very awkward silence. (Remember the set-up? That is the reason behind awkwardness). The girl was nearly bitter and already cynical of finding her “ain true love” (too many outings on the marriage market do that to a girl) and the guy had a bigger fish to fry.

They had, for all true purposes, sworn off the opposite sex.

And because silence, at times, screams, one of them cracked a joke. And broke the ice. Another joke, from the other, was cracked next. Of course, the first one wanted to use a mallet to commit suicide, the joke was that bad.

From there it went into a diatribe:  Honest, albeit with a chip on the shoulder, open, full of dry humour and very subtle accent. The girl thought: “If only it wasn’t for the accent. I could love this man.”

Strike one against the boy.

And then there was a very decided screech: High-decibel, very curt, full of whining and mixed languages. The boy asked, “Do you always scream at people like that?”

“Pretty much.”

Strike one against the girl.

The strikes kept on piling and the boy and girl kept up the conversation. For more than two hours. One serious question and the girl flinched (Honestly, I think the girl was just being an idiot at that time).

The boy backed off. For the time being.

He started all over again the next morning with renewed vigour. Another phone call and this time, the girl was impressed by the boy’s gall. And his voice (As said earlier, the girl was being a idiot trying not to love the boy).

The boy kept at his attempt to bring down her defences (She was living in a bloody fortress, if you ask me). And he slowly, but steadily, took apart the walls, one brick at a time (I couldn’t think of a better cliché).

No longer were either taking notice that the cold cynicism had paved way to something nice and warm. Neither the boy, nor the girl was willing to name it. Yet.

But neither was willing to give up the conversation. There was humour, there was theology, there were movies (I love ICE AGE!) and there was a lot of the past. Neither cared about anything but the conversation.

This was a conversation that went from phone to chat to skype to… well… in person.

Face to face, the girl was shy and the boy was smart.

With a lot of people as audience.

That took a bit out of the romance. But the unnamed feeling was there. Growing. Silently.

And that replaced choked-up conversations with subtle smiles and hearty laughters. But the girl still didn’t notice. Or tried not to (Thank God, the boy did…).

Even in the realm of philosophy, these two found humour. And still she didn’t see that the feeling was everywhere around her. Creeping up on her. Unnoticed.

Then one day, the boy took a giant leap. Of faith; towards her. (To use another cliché…) With his heart in his mouth.

And she noticed. She finally noticed…

…That love had found her. Them.