A Post Pujo Conversation

Hey, just saw your post. We look good together, no?

Yeah, we do. But we can't.

Why?

Because, according to the BNS, any kind of...

What the...! Cut the crap, bro! You approached me, remember? You're the one who stalked me and texted me first.

I cropped your photo after I met you at that guided Bonedi Bari walk during Pujo.

And you cropped our photo!

I knew you'd claim it's our photo too.

Of course I do. Look, I have a daughter. But still, I must have looked good at first sight. Otherwise, why would you, the quietest backbencher-lookalike guy, text me privately? You could've asked whatever you wanted in the main group.

Because I thought we could talk.

We could talk in the group. And we're doing that now as well. Well, in private, thanks to your creepy, cringey, lecherous self.

Don't call me that.

And you, don't remind me that I have a daughter.

I didn't.

You did. You did ask my age.

It was an innocent question.

Everything is innocent until you're old enough.

I didn't mean it that way.

Yes, you did.

I wanted to ask if you'd like to grab a beer and some momos with me tomorrow afternoon. It's autumn in Kolkata, and it's finally not so exhausting outside.

Did you really ask that out of curiosity?

Ask what?

My age.

I was just trying to figure out how late I am, as always. How much earlier I should've been in this position. Texting you, stalking you. For the first time in my life. Feeling like a teenager while struggling with a midlife crisis.

How old are you?

Two years older than you.

So you know my age?

It was an innocent response.

I get it. Everything is innocent until you're old enough.

22 October, 2026