invisible string ✓

three

• ADVIKA •

Dear Diary,

It has been 56 hours since I was immersed in the world of Aadya Chatterjee and her masterpiece, Ishaan Ahuja.

Yes. I mean it. I read the book You Belong With Me two days ago, sacrificing my sleep for the king of my heart. To be honest, in the world of boys, he's a gentleman. Ishaan was such a gem that I almost craved a guy like him in real life. And especially having a guy like Harsh in my doomed life, the urge to have him increases tenfold. Why don't men like him cease to exist in real life? Why reality has to suck a lot? Don't girls need rewards for who they are?

Girls like me and Aarvi had never witnessed true love. Because all the “true love” types exist only in books and movies. If authors created this universe instead of God, I'm sure this universe would be better than how it is.

If God was a nice author like Aadya Chatterjee, I would pray to him/her to get me hitched to a guy like Ishaan and help me develop the courage to leave Harsh.

Advika B.

***

“Advika, what's up with you?” I heard the knocking sound on my table— made by Harsh— as I removed the grin on my face.

“What happened?” I looked up with zero knowledge about what was going on around me and in me.

“I asked whether you have sent the audit report to Mr Sharma or not,” he repeated as if he was teaching the alphabet to a kindergarten slow learner. As he got the yes from me, he stepped a few micro-inches towards me and asked, “Are you okay?” with zero concern laced in his tone.

Leaning away to as much of micro-inches he moved to me in my swivel chair, I nodded a yes.

“Very good, sweetheart!” He gave me a smile that was as if someone was stabbing me with icicles while I was standing on an ice block, and left the place, allowing Aarvi to initiate her conversation.

“Did I disturb your Delulu Mode, Miss?” She asked how a nerd did when he was entering the staff room where teachers discussed question papers.

“Not you, but that—”

“Oh, wait! If you have plans to swear, remember that we're interns,” she lowered her volume as if to say, “Mind your fucking language.”

“Okay. It wasn't you, but my esteemed boss's beloved son and the man of my life—” I gritted my teeth and facepalmed while emphasizing “the man of my life” “— Mr Harsh Mathur.”

“A.K.A. The tallest asshole of mankind,” she whispered with her chin touching my table as if she was asking me for extra condoms.

“Now, who needs to mind their fucking language?” I imitated her as I placed my right hand between my chin and my table.

“Okay.” She cleared her throat as if to say, “Back to business, bitches,” and came back to her normal posture. “What's going on in Little Miss Delulu Girl's mind?”

“Ishaan Ahuja is riding his Royal Enfield straight to my heart,” I admitted, wearing my hopeless romantic grin again.

“I thought he was riding somewhere else.” She looked back at me with a grin she wears only when she cracks dirty jokes.

“Eww! Aarvi, stop cracking such jokes now!” I fanned my nose and coughed out loud.

“But, looks like you two need a ship name.” She placed her hand on her chin like scientists on their last step of finding something great.