𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐭

Part 32

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POV AUTHOR

Dawn arrived with all the grace of a toddler trying to sneak out of bed-clumsy, loud, and completely oblivious to the chaos it was causing. Golden sunlight spilled into the villa, exposing the battlefield of unconscious warriors who had succumbed to last night's legendary fun.

The living room, once filled with wild laughter, terrible dares, and even worse singing, now resembled the aftermath of an apocalypse-if said apocalypse involved teenagers, snacks, and questionable life choices.

In the middle of this human debris field, Tarun was sprawled across a giant beanbag, his limbs arranged like a malfunctioning action figure. One leg dangled off the edge, the other rested on a cushion like it had been placed there by some sleepwalking interior decorator. His phone lay face-up beside him, occasionally buzzing with damning evidence from last night-videos of him passionately singing off-key and confessing his undying love for paneer tikka as if it were a long-lost soulmate. His mouth was slightly open, a faint snore escaping every few minutes, only interrupted when he subconsciously swatted at an invisible mosquito.

Beside him, Tara and Shivi had claimed the floor in what could only be described as an epic cuddle puddle. Tara was curled up like a sleepy kitten, her wild hair sprawled across a cushion, while Shivi had somehow managed to turn sideways, her arm draped over Tara's face like a very affectionate but inconsiderate octopus. Occasionally, Tara would wrinkle her nose in irritation, mumble something about "personal space," and try to shove Shivi away-only for Shivi to snuggle closer like a clingy koala.

The rest of the group had also embraced floor life, but in the most haphazard way possible. Manav was using a half-empty popcorn bowl as a pillow (a choice he would soon regret). Rajveer, despite his relatively normal size, had somehow managed to sleep diagonally, hogging maximum space. Ishita, the ever-responsible one, had fallen asleep upright, her head bobbing like a malfunctioning bobblehead toy. Meanwhile, Mahi had a pillow over her face-possibly to block out everyone's snores or to avoid acknowledging the horrors of the morning.

And then there were the sofa boys-Rohan and Rahul. Both had claimed two adjacent couches like kings of their tiny, lumpy kingdoms. Rahul was sprawled dramatically, one arm hanging off the side, mumbling about some "betrayal" in his sleep (most likely referring to last night's disastrous truth-or-dare round). Rohan, on the other hand, was face-down into a cushion, drooling gloriously, blissfully unaware that at least three different people had captured his "mermaid twirl dance" from the previous night.

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Rahul had been peacefully lost in REM sleep, blissfully unaware that fate (and a certain someone's poor hygiene) had other plans for him.

Somewhere in the chaos of the night, a rogue sock-moist with mystery and carrying an odor potent enough to be classified as biological warfare-had landed squarely on his face.

His slumber, however, did not last much longer.

His face scrunched in confusion. His hand lazily reached up, patting around until-

FLUMP.

The sock tumbled off his face. Relief, right? Wrong.

Because as he turned over, the stench hit him again. His eyes fluttered open in sheer terror, and the moment his brain fully processed the horrors he had just endured, he bolted upright with the force of a man who had just seen his entire life flash before his eyes.

"CHIII!! EWWW!!"

The room, previously filled with blissful slumber, erupted into chaos.

Tarun jolted awake, flailing so hard he rolled off his beanbag. Ishita, half-conscious, nearly toppled off the coffee table. Rohan let out a startled "HUH?!" before promptly smacking himself in the face with his own arm.