They had moved in recently. A typical single kid urban couple. The husband is an export executive. She’s a fulltime housewife.
We met first while waiting for the lift. She had just come back after grocery shopping. I stole a sideways glance and felt my heartbeat quicken, looking at her beautiful eyes. She gave a quick formal smile as I helped her in transferring the heavy bags into the lift. It was like a million light bulbs lit up. I was mesmerised. She pressed the floor button. Miracle of miracles, she lived on same floor as us. “Oh, you must have moved into 12D,” I said, referring to the flat diagonally opposite to us. She laughed. It was as if a thousand crystal balls tinkled. “Why, yes! How do you know?” For the first time I looked directly at her and lost myself in those awesome dimples. She was petite, around 5’ 2”. Dressed in a red top and skin coloured skirt, no one would have judged her to be married, let alone a mother of a 5-year-old. “Oh,” I stammered, “I saw you press 12 and I live in 12B.” “That means we are neighbours!” she exclaimed. I nodded. I had never felt so tongue-tied in my life. Here I was, desperately trying to make a good impression on her and all my wit, humour and presence of mind had taken leave of me.