quite a few people have gathered for the party, and i can’t really delay going down to the garden anymore. there's only so much slack my mother would give me, even if she is seeing me for the first time in six months.

i walk down, and i think i pick out his sillouette from twenty feet away. there's a spark and his face illuminates in the flash, confirming it. his hands are protecting the cigarette from the wind.

the gusts are brutal, but all seven families have braved the outdoors for this barbeque.
i’ve just gotten off a plane that morning. its been a long time, and i'm not exactly looking forward to this.

karachi is unequipped to handle cold. its unequipped to handle rain, hail or anything else either. i stick my hands in the cardigan which is not equipped to provide any warmth whatsoever, and decide to say my hellos to the aunties first. they've gathered in a semi circle, and i walk into my mother telling them about my event decoration prowess. they're all oohing and aahing at the stupid table centerpieces i threw together a couple of hours ago. i handle the meaningless small talk, and escape to the uncles corner. they all hail me politely, terrified i'll attack them and their fat cat drawing room talk. i'm amused, but have lost the appetite for drawing blood, so don’t talk politics. i'm tired, want to mellow out for a couple of days before boredom and holidays start to grate. i'll save my battles for when i’m feeling passionate.

i’m avoiding him and we both probably know it.

i head over to the bar. “she’ll have a straight cranberry juice, no ice”, says a voice near my ear. i turn, and he’s right behind me. damn, didn’t think he’d be done with his smoke so soon.
i can’t help grinning. “Hi!”. it feels good to hug him, and to smell his aqua di gio. “still using the same bottle i gave you ten years ago mr. stinky?” by reflex, i revert to my nickname for him when we were ten.
he grins, and shuffles his feet. “of course not poopface. at least i smell of something other than oil paint”, and grabs my hand, sniffs it exaggeratedly.
i snatch it away, because i have a horrible feeling that the turpentine smell might just have lingered. i can’t help laughing. “god, its good to see you.”
“likewise poop, likewise”
we grab our drinks and automatically head for the tree. we sit down face to face. he grabs my glass, startling me. puts it to the side. grabs my face. before i can get out a ‘whoa there’ he says “owl!”.
crap. haven’t played that game since we were six. it’s the game when you have to sit and stare at the person until one of them blinks. i always lost.
“beware the years have hardened me” i say, in my mock shredder (from ninja turtle fame) voice. i spoil it by laughing. my eyes crinkle, but i don’t let them blink. i guess i'll just have to show this sucker who’s boss once and for all. heh.
“so too busy climbing ladders to keep up with old friends?” he doesn’t blink either.
our breath condences white, then evaporates.
“only kept in touch with the ones who count” . i try to be smug, but i’ve been getting the same complaints the whole day. i suck at emailing. one downside to returning home and facing old irate friends.
because of the tree branches, we’re practically nose to nose. his eyes are deep deep brown, like the batter of the dark chocolate cake his mother makes.
“been working out have you? need to build abs of steel to lure in the women?” i hope i don’t sound bitter. my mother had mentioned a few escapades. my eyes are starting to dry out with the strain.
“still stuffing on chocolate cake to fill out in the right places” he quirks an eyebrow. guess my traitor mother’s been talking to him too. thank god its too cold for my ears to turn pink.
“why didn’t you come visit?” i can’t resist asking. i'd promised myself i wouldn’t ask.
“why didn’t you call?” he counters.
good point. i try to sound nochalant, “oh been busy, you know how it is”. i give my version of a suggestive wink (winks are excluded from elimination rules).

and just like that, his eyes get serious, “i hope he’s been worth it.”

i can see him suddenly focus right through me, and i know he’s reliving the night i left.
“well, he wasn’t. but i'm back now stankster, thinking of moving back home for good. done with all the gallivanting”. i hold my gaze steady, and that isn’t easy.

damn all contact lenses.

his eyes still hold the question he asked all those years ago. “what will it be then?”
i know what he’s referring to. we always did know what the other was thinking. i know i’m tired, i'm jet lagged, and emotionally incapable of answering any soul searching questions right now.

i decide to just stop thinking.

i close my eyes, and just for the hell of it, lean over and kiss him.

what the hey, i would have lost if the game had lasted one more minute anyway.