I ain’t talking to you, She said, trying to sound as angry as she could, and curving her lips in a sullen pout.
He very well knew that her anger was nothing but fake, for she could never ever be angry with him and he knew it since all the time they had spent together.
And yet he walked upto her and tugged at her hand, and with a child-like innocence said, You’re not talking with me? How can you be angry with me love?
Why? Why on this Earth can’t I be angry with you?, She said, turning her face away from him.
A bit of more pampering, and she’d melt. And he knew this well and good. In his ever sweet voice, he said, I love you. Please talk to me sweet-heart.
I love you too. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not angry.
You love me, but that’s still not enough to make you talk to me. That can only mean that I’m a very, very bad person, and I always upset you.
Dare you say anything about the man I love.
Nah, I’m a very bad person.
Don’t you get it? You’re not allowed to say a word against my love.
If that’s the case, my dear, then I suppose, all your anger has melted down.
Nay. I’m still angry with you though;
I Love You More Than I Hate You…