to him, and her.

Hadn’t seen him for quite a while now, had seen him last a couple of years ago, with her. They were them then. SHE: the fair, the dainty, the coy, the pretty. HIM: short, a pitifully droll blend of an ugly mallu dad and an even uglier Afro mom. But somehow they fit, and it felt nice to see it fit.
I don’t have a favorite mush movie, I had one back then, it was THE SUNDAY LUNCH AT THEIR PLACE. Aloo bhujiya and Oscar Wilde. She usually hid in the kitchen; until he’d call………aye dost…“dost”, meant more then, much more. Then she left. The gradual abruptness of it all. He'd seen her off, he'd said it was inside her, but it didn’t get her, just didnt get to her face, she didn’t let it. So it got to him, and I see it now, I see it as we ask him over. DECLINED. “Have some work down at jungpura, then have to make it back home, maybe next Sunday”.
Turns around, shorter than ever, almost tiny, leaves. Numb, strange pangs of numb begins to rub all over. He is going home. Is he? Is he going back ‘home’? Where he has no one to go back to. No people in his pocket. I slip beside chachu (he is his frnd, from back at the passport office, that’s how we know him). “Why do you hug him so tight, you see him every day”. “I know I do, but sometimes it just seems like I never will).