"I wonder if flowers get jealous," I asked him one day while looking at a bunch of red and yellow roses on the corner table of that tiny restaurant. I had plucked them from my lawn in the chilly month of January.
"No, my love. Each one is exquisite in its own right." He selected a crimson rose and nestled it gently in my hair.
"Yeah, but some are more beautiful than others." I tried to remove the flower from my hair and replace it with another one.
"Ah, comparing beauty is merely a facet of human nature, sweetheart," he remarked.
We both smiled while eating our Masala Dosa.
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