Kuwaya and Praanvi - First Date
If you want to impress someone on a first date, do not read Kuwaya's Guide to Dating. Apparently, no one told Kuwaya that.
Kuwaya's Version
"She's standing outside in the cold, scarf wrapped around her head, breathing into her cupped gloved hands. I know I'm late. I run up to her appearing through a large cloud of vapor coming out of my mouth. 'Poof!' I say 'Sorry I'm late,' and smile. "She forgives me politely, then remarks that I have no shoes on. I forgot to put them again. But can you believe that I forgot to put on socks without holes! Then, for some reason, I tried to hide the holes. Not sure why. It's not like she hadn't seen them. "I tell her about my tendency to forget my shoes. I try to make a joke about how it keeps the stink of the feet down, but I don't think it went over well. "We stand there for a moment. Then I realize she's cold, and we need to go inside. I reach over her to open the door, but she's actually in the way. It is awkward as I try to navigate around her to get the door open. "We go inside and get a table. Order drinks. She's beautiful. I do realize I'm staring and try to start a conversation. I tell her her hijab is pretty. "She looks at me for a moment. 'I'm not Muslim', she says. 'I'm Hindu.' She then takes off what is obviously a wool scarf wrapped around her head for warmth. How did I not see that it was just a scarf? "I grab the menu and open it up in front of me. Eventually, the waiter comes and we order dinner. He takes the menus from us. She is so pretty. She looks away and then asks me about my music theory work. "She's auditioning, you know. She just did her solo audition, Brahms, Ballade, Op. 10, No.1 in D minor. "But you know no one ever wants to hear about my work. I don't know what to say, so I tell her it wouldn't make any sense to her anyway. I mean, she wouldn't be interested in hearing about it, right? "She looks away. I start talking about her audition. I attended, you know. Her eyes perk up. She's excited, I think. She knows I have a Ph.D. in Music Theory. She asks how she did. I tell her about the one-second misstep in the 4th measure, how the intro part was a slightly faster rhythm than the end, how the third part was started a little too early, stuff like that. "I don't know what happened. Suddenly, she won't look at me. We eat the rest of our food in silence. After dinner, she all but runs..." "Please tell me that you didn't spend most of the date critiquing her audition." "Well, yes. But those errors were so minuscule. I knew none of the other buffoon professors would even detect them, so I thought she might want to know. Lmar, it was the single most beautiful, breathtaking interpretation of Brahms Ballade, Op. 10, No.1 I have ever heard. It brought tears to my eyes, Lmar, tears." "And did you tell her that?" "Um, no, her brilliance is obvious. Why would I do that?" "Dammit, Kuwaya."
Praanvi's Version
"I was so nervous, I didn't even think to wait inside for him. So there I am, standing in the cold, and he runs up to me. He's wearing a brown leather jacket and skinny jeans. His huffing creates a vapor cloud in the cold air. He uses it to make a silly little gesture, apologizes for being late, and smiles. "Gods. That. Smile. Can't really say I felt the cold after that. "I look down and realize he has no shoes on! I mention it to him. He makes some stupid joke about smelly feet and then admits he sometimes forgets to put them on. Can you imagine that? So weird! It was adorable, however, how he tried to hide the holes in his socks with his feet. "We stand there for a moment. He reaches over me to open up the door so we can go inside. He smelled like tobacco leaves and warm leather. Gah, I can still remember that smell. Like an idiot, I don't get out of his way to let him open the door. I know, right? "Somehow we make it inside and order drinks. He orders a Turkish coffee. I order a chai. "I turn back from the waiter to catch him looking at me. He covers his embarrassment by telling me my hijab is beautiful. I don't know where he got that from. So I tell him, 'I'm not Muslim. I'm Hindu.' He actually had the presence of mind to blush. "So then he grabs the menu and hides behind it. Ok, fine. He needs a moment to recover. The other students still tell stories about him at the department. So, I was prepared for the social awkwardness. "We order food. He orders köfte. I order börek. I figure, my turn for conversation. So, I ask him about his dissertation. I certainly didn't understand much of it, but I was curious if a piano piece could be composed using his method. Might be interesting to play. Guess what he tells me, 'I'm not sure I want to talk about that. You wouldn't understand it anyway.' How rude! Ok, yeah, sure, I didn't get much of it. But that doesn't mean he had to throw it in my face like that. I was not amused. "Next, he starts to talk about my audition. He attended it! Can you believe it? I'd heard that his grasp of music theory was incredible, so I wanted to know what he thought about my audition. He began to dissect it with a barrage of comments about every little nit-picky thing he felt was not perfect. I was thrown off guard. I mean, I've listened to plenty of ridiculous over-the-top criticism. It comes with the territory. But coming from him, it felt - different. "The date kinda just flatlined after that." "Wow, that sounds horrible, Praanvi." "I guess. Regardless, he never called me again." "What does that matter? Does that mean you'd give him a second chance?" "Hmm, yeah, I guess I would."
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