𝐔𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤 & 𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐭🔞
An erotic short love story about Ayla, an Indian girl who escapes her toxic home and flees to New York City in search of a fresh start. But fate takes an unexpected turn when a friend's mis...
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I own a small, cosy bakery in the peaceful countryside of NYC. The smell of fresh bread and warm pastries fills the air, but behind that sweetness is a story I don’t really like to share.
Born in India, I ran away as a teenager, escaping my drunk, abusive parents who thought alcohol was a better investment than school fees.
I ended up in NYC, working my way through restaurants and cafes as a waiter, mostly hired because, apparently, I’ve got good looks and my English is sharp enough to make them forget I’m not one of them.
My dream was to study, but that dream got left somewhere between survival and sanity.
Now, I’m here, living in a decent apartment, with a bakery to call my own. Life’s peaceful, but there’s always this little void, a space that feels like something is missing.
But no, don’t get me wrong-I’ve got a best friend, Kylie. She’s more like my sister, really. She’s from NYC, and lives just a few streets away. Most days, we’re either at my place or hers, eating junk food, bingeing on reality TV, and making questionable life choices.
Her parents are absolute angels. They treat me like their own. And no, I’m not jealous of Kylie having such awesome parents; I’m just glad they love me enough to adopt me as their daughter.
Kylie, of course, is the wild one. Spoilt to the core, while I’m the quiet, responsible baker. Opposites attract, right?
She runs a flower shop near my bakery, and trust me, it’s always chaos when we’re together.
Speak of the devil-she called me just as I was in the middle of decorating a cake.
“Bitch, what the hell are you doing?” she practically screamed through the phone, loud enough to make my ears bleed.
I pulled the phone away from my ear. “Topping a cake. With cherries. And cream.”
“Ugh, boring! When’s a hot mafia guy gonna show up at your bakery, slap some cherry cream on you, and....”
“STOP right there,” I cut her off, grimacing. “Why do you always have to sexualize food?!”
Kylie cackled on the other end. “Because you’re a prude! You need to lose your virginity, babe, or your ‘innocence’ is gonna get you into trouble one day.”
“And who says losing virginity equals losing innocence?” I asked, trying to stay calm as I piped icing on a cupcake.
“The great Kylie says so, duh.”
“Well, I’m not following your philosophy, idiot.”
“Whatever! I’m going to a sex club tonight. Wanna come?” it was more like a statement “wanna cum”
I nearly dropped my spatula. “Kylie, you went to that club last week! Haven’t they banned you yet?”
“Why would they ban me? It’s a free country, and the sex club has rules. It’s very civilized, you know. They do tests and everything. It’s practically safer than your bakery.”
