Our Broken Promises

to everyone who had their hearts broken- chp 1

"Ira Ansari?"

"Present, miss."

Life at the University of Pune wasn't as exciting as the Twitter articles made it out to be. I had always dreamed of studying fashion at UOP, and my grades were up to the mark. But this time, my attendance was abysmal—very low. I blame "Secrets of Vegas" for that; the show had me completely hooked. I spent the entire last week in bed, binge-watching it. The previous month, I'd been home for two weeks to make my semi-annual visit. How could anyone maintain good attendance with all that going on? I had to deal with the family drama of two divorcees who, as fate would have it, now work together in the same company. My parents split eight years ago; their relationship ended, but the business they started in their first year of marriage didn't. It'll be mine someday—if one of them dies, that is. Until then, they continue to run it together, bickering all the while.

Today, I was finally shifting wards. My old hostel room was on the 16th floor—no AC, barely any light. This move was something I'd been looking forward to since my first year. Now, in my second year of uni, I was finally getting it.

"You play the guitar too?" His voice pulled me out of my thoughts. He was tall, handsome, dressed in a brown t-shirt and beige pants. Wow.

"Yes, I do," I replied, adjusting my guitar from my right shoulder to my left. I had just returned from university and was eager to move my things to the new ward. The new ward had boys—good-looking, tall boys.

"Do you play the guitar too?" I asked him as he stood outside my door, watching the packers assemble my bed.

"I did, back in school," he said, his deep, masculine voice resonating. He stood at the doorway, peeking inside, making sure the workers were doing their job. I began to wonder if he was there because he liked me—or the workers.

"The ward in-charge asked me to make sure the move goes smoothly. This floor is pretty empty. Just you, me, Ankita, Reet, Anya, and Utkarsh—all from Fashion Marketing and CAD," he explained.

"I'm in CAD too," I said. "I'm Ira." The silence between us grew heavier.

"Anirban," he introduced himself. "Now that you're here, I'll take my leave. I'm in the room next door. Dinner's at 8. Ping me if you need anything," he added, swiftly pulling out a sticky note from his pocket,noting his number on it. He asked for my hand and placed the note in it. *How hot.*

"Maybe uni life isn't as boring as I thought," I mused. But there wasn't time to dwell on tall, handsome hunks named Anirban—I had to finish moving and tackle a mountain of assignments before the weekend.