This is a very short story.

I knew this man who charmed me once with stories of the army life and pickled mangoes in glass jars. He told me tales from a time when he was younger, less tanned and full of ambition. He offered to cook me a meal, with roaring fires and sharp steely knives.
He offered to travel great distances so that he could meet me for the briefest of moments.
Socks were knocked off and naiveté was close at hand, under the rather sappy backdrop of damp park benches and mugs full of overpriced coffee.
He did do all those things; but for someone else. In hindsight it was a good thing because just like that I stopped being naïve.
The short story hence had a rather long drawn and trying end.


The short story has a shorter epilogue:
There is this thing called simplicity. There is another thing called honesty. You put that together and throw in impeccable grammar and there’s your winner.
In a sea of people who are covered in layers and layers of pretense and fake charm, it is comforting to know that there is someone who doesn't bother.