He once told his dear friend, an Indian woman that one day he would end up marrying her or a Turkish woman he was seeing. The Turkish woman married someone else and the Indian woman and him would end up seeing each other briefly a decade later, but they never did kiss. He found her unreliable and he told her so. In that hiatus, he would fall madly in love with a Caucasian woman that he absolutely adored in company, sex and kisses. To and fro, they would end the relationship with each other, like a game of volley. She would return with a final offer in which he rejected. Over time, he would go on to believe he would marry an Indian or Spanish woman. He met a Spanish woman that reminded him of his Indian friend in every way shape and form, except culture. In that bar in Milano, he didn’t get her phone number but instead gave her his email address because he hadn’t charged his phone with the change in electrical outlet systems travelling from Switzerland to Italy that day. He never did hear from the Spanish woman.