by Amrita Valan
Slouching on the floor rug in the darkened room, he gawked at my legs. I was slow dancing with a friend.
After the dance I settled down on the floor. He throatily whispered, "You dance well." While my buddy got us drinks he asked my number.
Over the phone we clicked, instantaneously; he wooed me with wit and chivalry.
"So you liked my legs or my dancing?" I quipped.
"An inch of frothy white lace peeping from under your saffron dress," he delivered deadpan.
Burning cheeks transmitted heat through the receiver.
"Loved it and you," he sotto voiced.
About the author
Amrita Valan is a writer from India and is passionate about exploring life, both dark and sunny side up. If she didn't write she would have wanted to be sent on secret missions involving travel. She had been published in Spillwords, ImpSpire and Cafe Dissensus among other zines.
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