Beloved Hate

-1 UGLY LOVE

Dil kagaz ka ek panchi
Tu amber sara hayeee
Tujhe jo dekhe toh
Ye furfur udh hi jayee
Hayee
✧

The morning's calm was shattered by the pounding in my head, a relentless drumbeat that pulled me from the depths of unconsciousness. I blinked against the intrusion of sunlight, disoriented in a room that was not my own. My phone was my first lifeline, the digital numbers glaring an urgent 8:00 AM from the nightstand.

I was in the lair of a stranger, the aftermath of a night where caution was thrown to the wind in favor of a one-night stand. But as I scanned the room, there was no sign of the other—only the echo of last night's promises.

Surely a drunk move.

Clad in a duvet, my attire from the night before still intact, I pieced together the fragments of memory. The person I had been waiting for had asked me to stay upstairs, but they never returned. A sinister thought crept in—had I been drugged?

Without hesitation, I reached out to my best friend, my fingers flying over the keys:

'''
Me:
Trapped. Need extraction ASAP.

Nia:
Told you One-night stands were never your forte.

Me:
Cut the lecture. Feels like I'm in a killer's den. Might get shanked any second.

Nia:
Location. Now.

Me:
Dropped.

Nia:
Stay sharp. Exit the house. Be at the gate in 10.
'''

With Nia's assurance, a plan was set into motion. What had I been thinking, diving headfirst into such a perilous night? The thought was cut short by the distant rumble of an approaching car. Relief surged through me, a stark contrast to the fear that had gripped me moments before.

Barefoot, in a black dress that ended mid-thigh, I scrambled for my stilettos. Finding them, I bolted for the door, my hair a wild mane, heels in hand—the very picture of a daring escape.

As I approached the main gate, my steps halted at the sight of the Bugatti La Voiture Noire, its sleek form a shadow against the morning light.

Recognition dawned in an instant, and I stood rooted to the spot, my breath catching in my throat.

The car door swung open, and there he was—Aksh Sehgal. His presence was as commanding as the vehicle he emerged from; a man whose physique bore the marks of countless hours in the gym, and whose demeanor hinted at a gentleness that belied his rugged exterior.

The standoff at the gate was a silent battle of wills, his fingers dancing over the phone with maddening indifference. Our eyes locked, and for a fleeting moment, time stood still. His voice broke the spell, a gruff ultimatum that jolted me back to reality. "Are you coming, or should I leave?" he asked, his attention already returning to the screen.

A whirlwind of thoughts assaulted me.
Is he dating someone ? No, it couldn't be.
No no he can't.

“Remember what you did to him ?"
My subconscious mocked and I felt like drowning in an ocean .

Yet the ghost of my past misdeeds haunted me, a mocking echo in my mind. I was still lost in the depths of his gaze when the car door slammed shut, the engine's growl snapping me out of my reverie. I couldn't remain here, not with the specter of danger looming.

"Aksh, wait up, damn it!" I called out, my voice a mix of desperation and defiance.

Slipping into the passenger seat, I was enveloped by the familiar scents of wood, cigarette, and musk—a sensory gateway to the past six years.