Dhruv Roy, a 30-year-old CEO and professor, lived a perfectly structured life. Aradhya Sharma, his 21-year-old student, was the complete opposite-spirited, carefree, and rebellious. She hated him, and their clashes in class were constant.
But her wo...
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I was struggling to fit myself on the couch while she was peacefully snuggled up on the bed. "I never thought I’d see this day," I mumbled to myself, trying to find a comfortable position. Sleep didn’t come easy, and by the time I noticed the sunrise, I had to force myself to finally drift off.
Next thing I knew, I was crashing to the floor with a loud *thud*. "Ah!" I shouted, rubbing my sore back. I glanced at the clock and couldn’t believe my eyes—it was already 12 p.m., and she was still sleeping like nothing had happened. "Is she for real?" I muttered under my breath, throwing the blanket back onto the couch before heading to the bathroom for a quick shower.
I changed into some comfy pajamas and a T-shirt, feeling a little more awake. She was still asleep. *Unbelievable*. I decided it was time to wake her. "Aradhya, wake up," I called softly.
No response.
"Aradhya, it's noon! Wake up!" I tried again, a little louder this time.
She stirred, mumbling, "Mom, let me sleep... I don't want to see his ugly face first thing in the morning at university."
I frowned. "Who?"
"That Mr. Idiot, Professor Dhruv," she muttered, still half-asleep.
"Excuse me? What's this behavior, Miss Aradhya?" My voice came out sharper than I intended, but it was enough to pull her out of her dream.
She blinked a few times, adjusting to reality, and saw me standing there with my arms crossed. "So, you skip your morning classes just because you don't like me?" I asked.
Stretching her arms lazily, she replied, "No, because I *hate* you."
I bit back my irritation and turned to the dressing table, trying to keep my cool. "Mr. Idiot, would you mind passing my phone?" she ordered like I was some kind of servant.
Without a word, I handed her the phone from the bedside table and went back to combing my hair. "Get me a glass of water," she commanded again, casually scrolling through her phone.
Sighing, I filled a glass and handed it to her. "My clothes," she said, barely looking up.
"Huh?"
"Can you take out my clothes for me?"
"No, I won't. Do it yourself. I'm not your servant," I said, placing the hairbrush back.
"But my maids always have my clothes ready. I don’t know how to choose for myself," she whined, putting her phone down.
"Then figure it out. It’s not that hard," I replied, sitting back down on the couch.
"If I go in there, it’ll be a mess," she warned.
"No problem. Do your chores yourself," I insisted, plugging my phone in to charge.
