Kabir

Have you even held a girl’s hand?’

I refused to admit I hadn’t, but it was written all over my face. Aman didn’t laugh. ‘It’s beautiful. You reach out. You don’t know if she is going to give you her hand. You wait, heart beating. Then her hand nudges yours. Her fingers brush lightly, so lightly, against yours. And suddenly your hand is filled with warmth. You are holding her hand. Girls have hands that are so soft.’

He smiled at my rapt expression. ‘It’s beautiful, because it’s not her hand she’s giving you. It is her trust.’

I had never let myself think too far ahead. I never let myself actually think of a future. But now I began to wistfully wish that one day I could hold somebody’s hand.

‘Have you ever kissed a girl? I mean . . . did you . . . with her?’

Aman grinned at me. ‘If I refuse to tell you, it’s going to drive you crazy, isn’t it?’

‘No, I’m cool.’ I said, practising how to talk like a college kid.

Aman gave a chuckle. ‘Sure.’

‘Oh, come on!’ I said. ‘Just tell me.’

But he wouldn’t. He really made me sweat for the story. He only told it to me late at night when sadness came upon him.