Onni

I woke up all glum this morning and wrote my own version of Andre Jordan’s Ordinary Love Stories.

I have fallen head over heels in love with an analyst called Onni.
He is six feet tall and smells of currency and cologne.
On our first date I planned to outwit him by dressing well and belting out replies like old school karate chops. But when he hopped into my rickshaw and kissed my cheek, I melted. And spent the rest of the evening looking away and smiling foolishly.
Since then, I have never met him again.

P.S: I am not really head over heels in love. Those things only happen to people who enjoy the rains. Thank god.