BOOK ONE OF THE SWEET AND SOUR SERIES
Vanya Sharma hated marriages. Growing up seeing troubled and failed marriages carved a bitter spot in her heart, especially when one of them belonged to her parents. While escaping the shadows of her past, she f...
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༘⋆🌷🫧💭₊˚ෆ
𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐡𝐚𝐚𝐬𝐭
कि दरख़ास्त है ये, जो आई रात है ये तू मेरी बाँहों में दुनिया भुला दे
TW: Panic Attack
08:08 Am, ITC Grand Bharat, Gurugram
I wake up groggy, my head pounding as though it's trying to split in two. The light streaming through the curtains assaults my eyes like a cruel joke. Groaning, I lift a hand to my forehead, but it feels like I'm underwater. Everything is a slow, muffled mess, and the only thing clear is the pressure building up between my temples—ugh, hangover. This was a mistake. I should've never listened to Kavya.
I sit up on the bed, wincing as the sheets stick to my sore skin. My body is a wreck—aches everywhere, stiffness in my limbs that reminds me of someone who had been thoroughly dragged around the club by their friends, and I'd say that someone is definitely me. The world spins slightly, and I take in deep breaths, praying for some clarity. Slowly, I blink away the fog, looking around my room, trying to piece together the night.
I can't remember much beyond the chaos and scattered flashes. Why does it feel like I just got hit by a truck? What the hell happened last night?
Wait. The club. Ice cream. A garden. Mahir. My eyes widen as the realization hits me. That awkward conversation with him—that moment—suddenly plays on an endless loop in my head.
I wince at the memory. Oh no, no, no. I was a mess. What did I even say? Why did I even say it? I buried my face in my hands, fingers digging into my burning cheeks, wishing I could rewind everything. I can barely remember the details anymore, just flashes of chaos and words that I definitely didn't want to say, especially to Mahir. My mind slowly churns through the fragments—the dance floor, him showing up, his annoyed face—God, please let me be dreaming.
I pull myself off the bed, wincing as every movement makes my back scream in protest. Great, hangover, body ache, shame spiral all wrapped in one big ball of misery. I stumble toward the bathroom, yanking the door open with a little too much force, then step into the shower. Maybe the water will help. Maybe I can wash this entire night away.
I stand there under the hot stream, my thoughts flooding in. The ice cream—then running into the garden after Mahir freaking out... What was that about? He seemed so annoyed with me, like I was just a problem he had to deal with.
The thought makes my stomach flip again, and I grip the edges of the tap like it's the only thing holding me together. Oh my god, I did that. I made him... deal with me.
The more I think about it, the worse the guilt gets. What the hell was wrong with me last night? I was half drunk, tripping over my words, acting like I couldn't hold it together. Then I go and pass out on him after I— Why did I grab his hand? I squeeze my eyes shut as more mortification floods my system. I didn't even mean to make it sound like I— Ugh.
