𝔅𝔯𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔫 𝔅𝔯𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔖𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 #2
𝐶𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑒
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Nitya Heer Tiwari had always been the strong one-the loyal friend, fierce and protective to her core.
But when tragedy strikes, h...
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I pass the leering bodyguards and enter the nightclub.
My client Mishal Gill is certainly not professional for choosing this place to discuss business.
As a 25 year old interior designer I have encountered worse fates in my job than this, so I suck it up and push through the crowd.
I really don't like crowded places where people touch and rub against the other intentionally. To be honest I hate touching.
Traumas and abandonment issues can do that to you.
A heap of gyrating bodies and drunk trust fund kids are having 'fun' on one side. On the other hand, there's tables reserved for business dealings.
'The Nightingale' is a nightclub that provides both fun and business. Among the throng of businessmen, a man who looks like he is in his mid thirties is waving at me.
Mishal Gill.
I internally blow out a sigh and walk straight to the table.
Here we go.
"I hope this place is comfortable for you Miss.Tiwari." Mishal asks out of courtesy. I can say that he's not really concerned about my comfort.
"Yes Mr.Gill" I provide him a tight smile and we discuss the new project.
Designing, colours, suitability and finally the budget.
The one thing in my life I love other than my bestfriend Shivanya and Khushi her daughter, is my job. Because I get to fix things and make people comfortable spaces. I like to be in control so when I got the opportunity to study designing I jumped at the idea.
I wrap it up after ending the discussion and thank him. It's already late at night.
When Mr.Gill offers me a drink I refuse it politely. I will never ever drink. It's something I have sworn off in my life to never do from past experiences.
When I start to walk through the door without touching anybody, a hard tug on my wrist makes me stumble into a dark corner.
My body instantly turns rigid at the contact. When someone touches me off guard my mind suddenly turns into defensive mode. So I put my arms up and aim for the person's face who dragged me into a corner.
Before I claw and trace the world map on his face by my fingernails, my eyes adjusts to the dimlight and the person infront of me comes to light.
There he is.
Aman Mehra.
The happy go lucky guy everyone knows. The one who is so easy to talk. Funny, smart, outgoing, charming fuckboy they say.
