Before Sunrise

It was a beautiful spring afternoon in the Capital. Perfect setting, you would say. His mind, for a change, was not preoccupied by that place down south and the people he had met there in the span of about three years. He was wearing his blue shirt, and was all ready to meet her after years (five, was it?).
Eagerness. A bit of nervousness like an 11-year old in love for the first time. No sooner did he think of smoking a cigarette than he was rung by his name in his ear. She had grown more beautiful than before. Much more, actually.
He was telling his heart to behave himself. It behaved. And so did the adrenalin.
And then it began. With the surprise that it's not overly hot weather, it followed on to catching up of the last five years. It went on to other things. They walked in that Circle, exploring various coffees, milkshakes, sandwiches and Lasagne. Delectable stuff. Nothing close to the company, though. She spoke in the same dignified manner, he thought. They talked and talked and talked. About alcohol and tobacco, eros and adultery, Wimbledon and IPL. About Simon and Garfunkel and RD Burman, castes and religions, Barrack Obama and Hillary Clinton, Taxi Driver and Fight Club, fullerenes and torque, marriage and children. About Notting Hill and Annie Hall, Dostoevsky and Wodehouse, Delhi Metro and Bangalore auto-rickshaws, Nokia and Sony Ericsson. He surprised himself by his volubility.
The venue changed, but the beauty of conversation continued uninterrupted.
It was two, and then she said, 'it's time for bed'.

But then again, perfect setting, you might say.