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"What do you even mean, you creep?" the kiddo asked, shifting away from me as if I was harmful.
"What? Who would want that? Honestly, I don't even blame you. I have that captivating beauty," I responded making him roll his eyes sassily.
"You need specs, and that too with a larger number. My best friend's sister has partnerships with all the top international brands. Kabhi Bombay aao, mai khud tumhe le chaluga," he added.
[Come to Bombay someday, I'll buy it for you.]
So, he's from Mumbai. Makes sense. Why is he so narcissistic and overconfident? Ufff, these kiddos.
"Bombay ke bigde bete, tumahare Bombay me aache tapes milte hai? I think you should buy one for your mouth," I retorted, and he made a disgusted face.
[Bratty boy from Bombay, are there any good tape shops in your city?]
"Yes, there are. I'll get one for you, but I don't have those kinks... yet," he replied in the most annoying way possible.
If we don't stop now, one of us will die. I took a deep breath and told myself that someone had to be the better person.
"I am going to be the better person," I declared.
He chuckled, infuriating me even more.
We continued walking, trying to find our way. I helped him stand up, noticing that his pain was real, not an act. As he draped his arm around my shoulder for support, I winced under the weight of his muscular frame pressing down on me.
"You know you broke it, right?" he said, deliberately leaning on me even more.
"Yeah, and I can break more than just this," I retorted, pushing him away slightly. His scoff only added to my frustration.
"By the way, how old are you? You called me 'beta,' so I figured I should ask. My mom looks a bit younger than you," he teased. I passed him a fake smile that screamed it's not funny.
"I'm 18, and for you, 81, bratty boy from Bombay,"
I took a deep breath, already feeling the weight of exhaustion from the endless walking.
"Makes sense why you call me kiddo. I'm 17," he said, his tone suddenly serious as he got lost in his own thoughts.
"Who even asked?" I snapped, pushing his weight off me again. The strain was getting to me, and his weight was becoming unbearable.
"Sorry, grandma. That would be an insult to my grandma. I'll stick to mountain girl," he said, and we started bickering again. Despite the irritation, there was a strange comfort in our playful argument—it kept the fatigue and monotony at bay, even if it left me feeling drained and irritable.
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