Our story began in Sadashivnagar, under orange lights and in empty roads A time when the land is very dry, the summer is yet to come, and the rains are yet to start By April, we were found, in that brief wisp of spring, that Bangalore gets, sometimes, somewhere, somehow.

After that, what is love, but a set of choices made with a little more sparkle a little more joy, maybe a little more wonder, maybe

Thinking just a few days ahead of where you used to think before.

After that first year we thought, “This is it!” Time to scurry home And find our stories again Don’t let fling become fantasy

And fantasy becomes a pale version of itself When reality takes its bitter hold, and mashes it beyond all understanding.

But somehow this reality never got mashed these days are still like that first day when we wondered was this fantasy or is this a real life. Just a real life we never imagined a new, different kind of world

Telling any story takes choosing an arbitrary beginning and end In a grand story that has no beginning and end Especially stories that are about concepts that we made up The grand delusions of abstract nouns Like falling in love.