I look at your eyes lost in your phone, moving from one edge of your iPhone to the other. You read something and type. You are wearing a smartwatch. You look at it and you keep your phone upside down on the table and Damn! You look at me and I look at you. Your eyes are peculiar, I try comprehending the color of your iris, it’s not too dark, it’s not too light, they look like honey.
Love is blind. Is this phrase true Love is blind?
Love is illogical. How can Love just exist? What is this mystery?
I get down at the India Gate and find you standing outside your car. I knew India Gate was your favourite ever since college. I wondered why were you so addicted, and why would you always roam about here. You look happy from afar. I want to just keep looking at you.
I see a handsome young man seated across, looking at his phone, texting someone and smiling. I look at his pretty face, his strong built shoulders and soft hands. A very soft person and gentle. He is wearing comfortable but crisp clothes. An expensive watch. Greeting the waiter courteously, very smart person.
