BOOK ONE OF THE SWEET AND SOUR SERIES
Vanya Sharma hated marriages. Growing up seeing troubled and failed marriages carved a bitter spot in her heart, especially when one of them belonged to her parents. While escaping the shadows of her past, she f...
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༘⋆🌷🫧💭₊˚ෆ
𝐏𝐞𝐡𝐥𝐢 𝐃𝐚𝐟𝐚
इक वो नज़र, इक वो निगाह रूह में शामिल इस तरह
📓
𝗩 𝗔 𝗡 𝗬 𝗔
17 December, 04:57 PM, Sharma Sadan, B block, Green Park Extension, New Delhi - South, Delhi NCR
"Vani bimar ho jaegi, kapde pehen le."
I yelp when mumma smacks my shoulder, my phone falling from my hand. It lands on the floor with a soft thud and I quickly reach down to pick it up. My poor baby.
"Mummy yaar!" I scowl, checking to see if there is any damage to the screen or not.
I had on a white cashmere dress that I stole from Mumma's collection last year. While it was comfortable as a cloud, it had thin strips as sleeves.
"What yaar? Poore din phone mein ghusi rehti hai. Ise aag laga deni hai maine kisi din," she hisses, throwing a powder blue cardigan at my head.
Moms and their unnecessary hatred towards mobile phones. The irony here was she was as much addicted to the little device as I was but apparently, it was for her 'work'.
I put on the shrug, pursing my lips as Mumma glares. I stand up and walk past her, flicking my hair dramatically to which she rolls her eyes and walks over to sit on the couch.
"Make me some tea. Others' kids give them good news and here's mine, twenty-five and giving her mother headaches." A taunt follows her demand and I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth, biting back the urge to reply.
I did not want her acting up, especially when Mahir sir was on a visit today. God knows what will happen when these two meet. I absolutely cannot trust that devil boss after what happened yesterday.
I set up the pan on the stove, turning it on as I put in the ingredients. Milk and water in seventy to thirty proportions with tea leaves, sugar, cardamom, ginger, and black pepper with cloves in a perfect blend. I let the tea simmer for a few minutes, checking my phone in the meantime.
I had sent Mahir sir my address in the noon, telling him to come by the evening but the man had left me on seen. Even after so many hours, there was no reply or sign that he was coming. A small smile comes on my face when I remember his family.
His mother was an absolute sweetheart and so were the other members of his family. I bite back a chuckle when I remember how his face reddened when his mother scolded him. Looks like the big bad wolf is a puppy in front of his mother.
A ping echoes and I quickly look back at my phone, frowning when I see no new notification. Another ping echoes and I find Mumma's phone on the kitchen island. I pick it up, unlocking the password and a scoff leaves my mouth when I see the Facebook texts. Why is she even using Facebook at this time and era?
