Ye tera ghar ye mera ghar...

Sigh! I turned on that sigh to see his hand make it's dramatic way to his heart. I had to turn away to suppress a grin...
Had this been a movie or a novel, that scraggly young man, in a dust-covered fake branded shirt and tight-fitting sequinned denims, would have come in my dreams that night. The circle of sawdust on his greasy brown curls would have been my halo, my sign that we were meant to be. Days of flirtatious glances and shy small talk would have culminated in a brutally passionate confrontation; and I would have helplessly confessed my undying love to him, before breaking down in the tight grip of his arms around me.
But no! What I would shudder to even call 'our' story, ended at my turning away to suppress a grin. I was left wondering about how even my grin wasn't in the least close to a blush! I was very brazenly grinning at how impossible it was for him to cross all social, economic and other barriers between us and have a friendly chat with me. I was grinning at his wasted gesture, at the fantasies he must have cooked up in his mind about us and their impossible distance from the truth. I was grinning at the smart talk and the laughs he would share with his co-workers during meals, about me, and the hopelessness of it. My shallow self was gloating at the differences in us on the basis of looks, status, language...
I wouldn't discriminate on these shallow grounds generally; because people who do so, are so narrow-minded and orthodox! Here, in this matter though, I shan't compromise. After all, this is love we are talking about.
Then, I very nearly have considered giving him a chance, when he stops chiselling at the ceiling of my room and turns to lock my eyes in a steady gaze for a few seconds. But then both of us turn away from each other, carrying a smile into our respective worlds. His smile as confident of the possibilities as mine is of the contrary! He shrugs and so do I... In an ideal world, I might have left behind an ashamed father, a devastated mother and a brother seething with a lifetime of hatred, to flee with him to some jungle in the mountains and cook for him in our tent, while he chops logs of wood.
But in reality, I am quite content munching away at biscuits I haven't baked, and approving his tools dancing away at the corners of my room; for who will leave the opportunity to live in the house that he is working on building??