“I used to have such a crush on Raveena Tandon. Especially in this song,” Hisham said, his eyes fixated on the screen. “I must’ve watched this movie about a hundred times.”

“Me too. But Akshay Kumar was the object of my crush.”

“Oy hoy, a Bollywood fan? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Guilty as charged.” I put up my hands.

“Speaking of crushes, I heard that Asad really took a liking to you. Any chance the two of you might reenact this song?” He wiggled his brows.

“Stop it.” I threw my napkin across the table at him.

“Imagine how thrilled your ammi would be.”

“My ammi would be happy with anyone at this point.” I rolled my eyes, laughing.

Just then the waiter, a young boy wearing a Gap T-shirt with brown trousers that ended four inches above his ankles, emerged from behind the curtain carrying two drinks on a plastic tray.

“What is this?” I asked, staring at the delightful concoctions as he set them down in front of us. They were tall glasses of pinkish ambrosia, each topped with a generous scoop of pista kulfi decadently covered in chopped almonds, coconut, cardamom pods, and strands of fragrant saffron.

“This is the moment your life changes forever,” Hisham said. “Go on, have a sip.”

I leaned forward, taking a mouthful of the sweet, refreshing, rose-flavored syrup coupled with velvety ice cream, silky vermicelli noodles, slithery black basil seeds, and crunchy almonds. It was psychedelic.

“Oh my goodness.” I closed my eyes, letting the cool liquid run down my throat as it filled my mouth with the most delicious tastes.

“And that was just the falooda. Wait until you try the rest,” Hisham said as the waiter returned, balancing multiple trays of mouthwatering kababs, rolls, samosas, barbecued chicken, and everything else on the order. I took Hisham’s lead and dived right in as he explained each item to me. The flavor combinations exploded in my mouth as we devoured plate after plate—each tastier than the next.

“So, what exactly are you looking for? If you don’t mind my asking,” Hisham said as he squeezed fresh lemon juice onto his bhuna gosht.

“If you had asked me this question about three months ago, I would have had a very specific answer for you. I might have even provided you with . . . a list.” Hisham lifted his eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

“And now?” he said.

I shrugged and looked up at the screen. As I bit down on a samosa, my mind drifted toward the list. It was the first time I had thought about it since I had been in India. Back home, it was what I relied on to measure my feelings for someone—the point of reference for all my past relationships. But I hadn’t needed it to measure my feelings for Hisham. I liked him. From the moment I first met him, there was no doubt in my mind.

“So when was the last time you had an Akshay Kumar–worthy crush on someone?”