Last week at the fuel station while I leaned against my car, my eyes fixed on the meter as the guy held the nozzle of the tube to the fuel tank, a car stopped in the parallel lane. The lady on the wheel was a corporate professional who I follow on social media. Not wanting to let go of the opportunity to meet the woman in person, I walked over to the other side leaving my fuel tank to the honesty of the petrol guy. I peeped into her window and praised her about her thoughtful posts. It was flattering to learn that she knew about my book .

‘Ok, nice meeting you, Let me know when you are in Mysore next, would love to meet you,’ I said when the guy gestured me that he was done.

‘But you haven’t bought my book.’ Saying this, she took out a book from a bag kept on the passenger seat.

‘Oh I didn’t know you have written a book,’ I said, embarrassed at my ignorance.

She threw a smile at me. ‘Now you know.’ Then she gave me a quick gist of the book as she held the book for me, very clear in her expressions that the book is only for sale and not a gift.

‘I am sorry I don’t have money now. May be next time when we meet, I can bring my book and we can exchange our books,’ I said uncertainly, not sure if it was appropriate to indulge in book shopping at a public place amidst honking. (Book exchange is a common practice amongst authors)

She drew in a long breath. ‘But I don’t read fiction.’

For once, the incessant honking was pleasing to the ears.