I asked if promises would always be there, he confirmed from his top tower registration office at bangalore. Since he has switched to this new passion I feel that my place in his dictionary is static to some unromantic corner.

Our calls have reduced, from mangrove to bangalore I have been handling his mustachios and cup of coffee. Oh little did I knew how to handle such a madness at height.

His mother complaints a lot too, and now a days we both talk on very familiar and common topic.

At some nights when I am completely asleep he would text me and call as if he knows when to do that. I have been missing him since the day I ate that dosa at udupi. Oh dear what an ass of me, the smell of fresh mint leaves and curry leaves, those bright golden color of crisp dosa and rain with filter coffee.

There was a lot to memorise and savour. And I came back from bangalore leaving back him with his passionately dipped startup.

I don’t understand this whole concept of having a startup, as if there would be no recognition if you don’t have a startup after a foreign degree.

Well I am also doing the same with mine, my foreign degree is at my wall, I stare at it everyday, gaze it and think what to do with the frame, that’s all I think of.

Or may be sometimes I think of my best days spent there and feel the happiness of coming back to the roots, greeting and doing for people, helping raise each other.

And then there is my incomplete and underlying love story.

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