The day had come. He looked into the mirror, and rehearsed his line. At first he smiled wide. Inched closer towards the mirror. Checked-out his teeth. Smirked at how good he looked. And then, suddenly a sombre expression took over as he said, “Will you marry me?” In an attempt to pre-empt the reaction, he spoke again in a squeaky voice this time, “Yes! Yes! Yes! Who else would I marry? I mean look at you, what a hottie! You’re…” Just then, his mother walked in. He quickly stood up straight, shoving the jewellery box into his jacket. She gave him a puzzled look, he returned it with a sheepish one. She said, “Who were you…” But it was his chance to cut her as he said, “OK bye maa! I’m late I’m late I’m late.” He kissed her on the cheek and ran out of the house. He had picked a pretty little tea house tucked away in the lanes of Bandra, waiting for the love of his life with a stomach full of butterflies and a cup of exotic Kashmiri tea. Silky saffron threads diffused their colour in the milky brew, awakening him with more excitement with every sip. What started off as an eager wait, slowly turned into an agonising one. But then, from the corner of his eye, he saw him walk in. He ran towards him and hugged him tight. “You know, I rehearsed a lot.” He laughed and replied, “I know, your mother told me.” His jaw dropped as he saw his mother walk through the door. He finally found his Mr Perfect, together with a new-found respect for his mother. And as they exchanged rings, she cheered to their relationship with a refreshing cup of some freshly brewed acceptance.