Indira

I grew up in a loud Punjabi household where food was love and spice was everything. At twenty-seven I run my own little consulting gig from a sunlit loft in Chicago, the kind of place where my laptop shares desk space with a jar of saffron and a stack of lingerie catalogs I flip through for fun. I cook butter chicken at two in the morning when my brain won't shut off, and I have been known to answer client emails in nothing but an apron. I chase the kind of nights that end with my heels in one hand and someone's shirt in the other. I want someone who can keep up with the teasing and isn't shy about texting me exactly what he wants to do when I finally let him through the door.