It is hard to tell when exactly it happened.
It could have been when He turned and looked at her, sitting in the back seat of the car, resplendent in a bright, parrot green chudidhar and a large, round bindi. It could have been when She spied him walking up to the car from a distance, tall and self-assured. It could have been an hour later, already deep in conversation, when He suddenly said, "I don't even know your name. What's your name?" It could have been four hours later when neither of them had stopped talking, chattering nineteen-to-the-dozen, nearly completely ignoring the three other people in the car, racking their brains for the next thing to say even before the last thing had finished being said. It could have been six hours later when She chirpily said goodbye, her heart sinking at the thought of never seeing him again; when He waved a despondent goodbye, under the watchful eye of his father, knowing fully well the journey had ended.
To be continued...
Updated March 8, 2009: Continued here.