That night we made love for the first time. Unexpected, unaware of what we were doing, we made love.
“Still your stubble tickles!”
“I shaved this morning.”
“Haan, still it is tickling, when you kissed my waist.”
I kissed her again. I took my razor to clean shave again. This time, I shaved in reverse direction, to make it smooth.
In the meantime, she took out my diary and read, “Coffee Date”
She asked, “Do you write?” After a very small pause, “You write poems!”
“Haan, I write for my girl.”
She gave a quizzical smile. I said, “I write for you.”
“Okay, let me read.” She looked into the diary with her curious eyes.
“It reads like a mega serial.” She said mischievously.
“Life itself a serial, suspense, a game, music, a book, and it can be interpreted in thousand different ways.”
“I think you will be a bestseller someday.” She said. I laughed.
“Oh my God! I hate that unclean stubble!” She said in a high tone, “Do you even write a copy of your Facebook status and notes in your diary?”
“Yes. I preserve each and every moment that happened between us.”
She threw the diary, came over to me, hugged me and said, “I love you so much dear!” “I love you Isha!”
After a minute or two, she raised her head and asked, “Are you going to write what we did today?”
She pushed me, took a spatula from kitchen and came running behind me. I caught her, pushed her on the bed, and asked, “Don’t you like it?”
She blushed. “I do.”
I smiled. “I will write that his clean shaven look bowled me over again and we made love that night!”
She blushed again and we slept together for one more time.