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— 𖤐 𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐑𝐀𝐍'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕 :
"Trust me, you'll be sending me flowers for this later." The fake blondie weirdo in front of me flashes a wide grin, thankfully ditching her oversized sunglasses and shawl.
I continue shooting her my best glares, with my arms crossed neatly across my chest.
I can't fucking believe I'm actually doing this.
I was supposed to quickly shove her off to the airport and get rid of her, but here I am, sitting in a South Indian restaurant for breakfast because it was the queen's final wish.
At first, when she mentioned wanting to eat breakfast, I instantly said no way, but she kept pulling these ridiculous puppy-dog faces and throwing in a thousand 'please' until I gave in.
She was like : 'Please, I insist, it's on me! you don't need to pay a single penny and moreover I want to properly thank you with a delicious eatable meal for not kicking me out on the streets and treating me with such hospitality.' The sarcasm practically dripping from her words, and I couldn't help but scoff.
I don't need to pay a single penny? Is she for real? Does she think I'm some cheapskate who can't even buy her a breakfast?
HA! I'm a fucking billionaire, I swim in the cash.
And again I can't fucking believe that I fell for it and said yes!
So darn frustrating, I swear.
The entire ride from the house to the restaurant, she wouldn't stop babbling about her one trip to India with her mom, exaggerating how mind-blowing and out-of-this-world the South Indian breakfast was. And when she returned to New York, there was no one to cook for her, so she discovered this South Indian breakfast spot named 'Dosa Royale' that she thinks is so darn underrated.
The weirdo also claimed that she used to frequently come here because she adores all the Indian food.
Can you believe someone actually adores food? Seriously?
I can't stand myself because I listened to all her blabbering absolute nonsense so intently, going from how happy she sounded while talking about her trip to India and then how it went to be gloomy suddenly because no one cooked for her—the sadness very much evident in her tone and then back to be ecstatic because she discovered a spot in New York, which serves delicious south Indian breakfast.
Most probably because I can't help but notice the slight noises, even when I try to ignore them. That's why I was so engrossed in her non-stop chatter, right?
When we finally made it to the restaurant, she instantly started chatting up the manager as if they were long-lost Pals.
At first, the manager was totally clueless and didn't recognise her, thanks to that wild blonde wig. But when she pulled off that ridiculous eyebrow wiggle antics, ditched her glasses and shawl, he finally caught on and burst into laughter, high-fiving her like they just won a crazy contest.
