He pecked my forehead and attached our forehead we were breathing heavily due to the ferocious kiss we have shared and damn god he is good, na! na! -fantastic kisser.
"How many times have you kissed before?"
"Never. Ahana never you are my first and...
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The pounding in my head was relentless, a constant reminder that something had gone terribly wrong. Groaning, I sat up on the bed, rubbing my temples in an attempt to ease the pain. Every muscle in my body ached as if I had run a marathon-or been hit by a truck.
"What the hell happened last night?" I mumbled to myself, my voice hoarse.
Fragments of the previous night flickered through my mind like a broken film reel. The last thing I could recall was taking a drink from a waiter-a drink I now suspected was alcoholic. After that, I'd run to the washroom to splash cold water on my face. And then... nothing. My memory was a complete blank.
Frustrated, I racked my brain for answers when the sound of a door opening snapped me out of my thoughts. I looked up sharply, my heart skipping a beat. Standing there, casually leaning against the bathroom doorframe, was Ishaan.
He had a towel draped over his shoulder, his damp hair falling messily over his forehead. He looked entirely too composed for someone who had apparently spent the night wherever I was.
"Oh, you're up! Good morning," he said with a nonchalant smile, as if this were the most normal thing in the world.
I blinked at him, momentarily thrown off by his relaxed demeanor. "Good morning," I muttered, my voice automatic. But as my brain caught up with reality, alarm bells began ringing.
My hands froze mid-motion, no longer massaging my aching forehead. My eyes darted around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings-the gray walls, the sleek furniture, the faint scent of sandalwood lingering in the air.
This wasn't my room.
Panic surged through me, and I whipped my head back toward him, my voice rising. "What are you doing in my room? That too in the morning?!"
Ishaan's smirk deepened, and he crossed his arms over his chest, the picture of infuriating confidence. "I like the confidence," he said, his tone teasing. "But do me a favor-look around and tell me whose room this actually is."
My breath caught in my throat. His words sent a chill down my spine. I forced myself to take another look, scanning every inch of the room with growing dread. The realization hit me like a freight train.
