Random Questions To Ask Someone Novels & Stories

Kaizer replied back. “We’re curious about each other. Why don’t we play 21 Questions?” Alicia suggested. “21 Questions? What is that?” “You don’t know that?” “Nope.” Does he live under a rock? “We’ll just exchange questions. I’ll ask you a question, then you will answer it, and vice versa. Let’s just keep exchanging questions until we’ve asked twenty-one. Random questions,” Alicia explained. “That easy?” Alicia nodded. “Who is going to ask first?” Kaizer asked.

“Did you feel a strange connection with someone? Or are you asking because you are bothered about not having a mate yet?” “I’m uncertain what to choose but I would still choose a ‘no’ to both of your questions. Just tell me what you know about it and that's all.” She seems reluctant. And I have no idea why she is. “You know, it feels kind of strange to me,” she tells me. “Well, are you saying or not?” “Depends on what exactly you want to know,” I decide to think it through first because I am looking for the best way to ask her questions without making her know I’ve got a lot to say regarding my personal life

Then I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to focus on my work, checking my phone every fifteen minutes like an idiot. The reply came around five: [Brilliant idea. Ten questions is enough to learn the essentials without ruining the mystery. May I start?] "Of course. Go ahead." I braced myself for something basic. Age, job, whether I lived alone. The kind of thing every guy on dating apps wants to know right away. Instead, he sent: [If you had to pick a song to represent a perfect cup of coffee on a rainy London morning, what would it be? And why?]

“You know, of things we want to know about each other? Just to make it less awkward when we’re at my parents’ place.” Kiera glances at me, surprised but intrigued. “A game?” “Yeah, like a fun questionnaire. It could break the ice. We could take turn asking things, like our dreams, what we wanted to be when we grew up… you know, stuff that helps us not feel like strangers.” She laughs softly, the sound easing some of the tension. “Okay, that could work. But only if I get to ask the first question.” “Deal,” I reply, smiling. “What do you want to ask?”

“Like where I—” I stopped short. I wouldn’t have answers to any questions regarding my origin and shit like that. “Like what my favorite color is. People try to get to know each other by asking questions on a date.” “Blue,” he said. “Your favorite color is blue.” “Uh, that sounds right,” I said. “But I might change my mind on my favorite color. If you don’t have any more questions, it’s my turn to ask you some. If you lie, I’ll know.”

“How about we play a game? Something lighthearted. 20 Questions?” He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “20 Questions? What, like, we take turns asking random questions?” “Exactly,” I said, feeling my pulse quicken. “We ask anything—no filters, no restrictions. And you have to answer honestly. It’ll be fun.” He chuckled. “Alright, love, you’re on. You can go first.” I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the onslaught of questions that was about to come. “Alright, here’s an easy one. What’s your favorite food?”

He asked. “Well,” I said. “It's not about whether or not you ask questions as much as how polite you are when asking them. Getting too personal with someone you don’t know is a recipe for foul things to come. Ask her about her favorite color, what kind of music or food she likes, and if she chooses to share something that's one thing. However, don't pry. If she shows you something she can do, you can ask, but I don't want you boys bombarding her about all of the things you wonder if she can do because I don't even think she has all the answers and it’s rude." I told them.

MARISSA Denise stuck her tongue out at me when Annie wasn’t looking and pulled a tray of cookies out of the oven. While I transferred them to the cooling rack, she went to work getting the next batch in. “You know you were curious, too. Besides, I’ve asked him those questions now, I’m not going to ask them again.” “I can think of a few questions you haven’t covered yet,” I teased. Heaven knew, I shuddered to think what she would come up with given half a chance. His underwear size, current bank balance or the phone numbers of his best friends for references came to mind.

Asking questions like. “Are you new here?” “Never seen you here before,” “Your looks are so exotic, do you give private dances?” “Can I get your number?” “When did you start?” “Damn girl! Is that red hair natural?” “You’re very cute, can I have your number?” “How old are you?” And I was unsure how to answer them so I just went with simple answers. “Yes” “I just started.” “No, I’m new.” “I don’t have a phone.” “A few weeks ago,”

“Lay it on me.” “Lay what on you?” I asked, as he washed the broccolini in the sink. “Your first question.” “Oh, right,” I said, smiling coquettishly, as I thought of what to ask. “What’s your favorite color?” “Really?” Cal groaned, clearly dissatisfied. “Come on, I want a real question.” “We have to start with the basics,” I argued playfully. “If someone asks me what your favorite color is, I’m going to look like a complete buffoon if I don’t get it right.”