Impatient for this moment to be over, I reached out, gently tapping Omar’s left hand, and asked him if his vocals would soon begin. He didn’t reply. Just as I was about to shake him out of the trance he was in, he suddenly opened his eyes, grabbed my hand, and started belting out the opening verse of the song—in Hindi.

I know I’d agreed to hear his work, but never in my wildest dreams did I think that meant I would be forced to sit through a live show in the middle of a semipacked bistro. Without the lush greenery of the countryside, the elaborately dressed background dancers, the gentle wind blowing in our hair, and the pitch-perfect voice of Udit Narayan, this moment wasn’t quite as romantic as I had always imagined it would be. As I sat there completely dumbfounded, mortified, and trying to make sense of exactly what was happening, Omar continued serenading me with each emotional lyric of the song—entirely oblivious to his tone deafness and the dozens of eyes that were curiously pointed in our direction.

Anyone who knows Bollywood music knows that most classic love songs are sung as duets between two enamored lovers. This means there’s always a guy’s part and a girl’s part. However, that gender constraint didn’t stop Omar; as soon as he finished the third verse of the song, he seamlessly transitioned into the girl’s part, passionately singing his heart out to the man of his dreams. While I could feel the stares continue to pierce through every layer of my skin, I sat there silently, plotting all the different ways I could murder Hannah for this godawful date she had set me up on.

When Omar finally finished, I didn’t know whether to clap or run, although I was leaning more toward the latter. Instead, I gave him an embarrassed smile and thanked him for his “performance,” relieved that the horror was over.

“So? What did you think of my voice?” Omar asked earnestly, wiping beads of sweat off his forehead with a white napkin.

“What do you mean?” I replied, feeling grateful that we were at least back to talking rather than singing.

“I mean, my tone and pitch. How would you rate them?”

Rate them? Is this guy for real? I’d thought the worst was over, but now he wanted me to critique him? This was definitely not how I pictured my Indian fairy tale panning out. I had imagined me + Akshay Kumar + quaint European village + romantic song + dancing elephants. Instead, I got guy with too much gel + weirded-out looks + tone-deaf singer + a lifetime ban from ever stepping foot into this bistro again.

I stumbled through a few generic compliments, and the remainder of the date was more or less a blur. Omar continued to talk—primarily about himself—and I pretended to listen while silently praying each time he opened his mouth that I would not be subjected to the remix version of his song. At the end of the date, we finally said our goodbyes, and I watched Omar pull away in his shiny red Audi S5 convertible—the shattered remnants of my Bollywood fantasy emanating from the trail of smoke he left behind.