Krisha kept her cigarette unlit between two fingers, and asked, “what is romance to you?”
“Romance… Certainly not bollywood songs, and those Valentine’s Day cards, nope… That’s not romance.” Kritika replied.
“It must be a whistle of the Pressure cooker, Kabir getting away from me, folding clothes, and mundane… I guess that’s Romance.” Kritika said further.
Krisha pulled her close, whispered in her ears, “Romance has better meaning with me.” and nibbled. It must be the pressure cooker that stole the romance that day.