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
𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚 𝐧𝐚𝐚𝐦 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐞 मन मस्त-मगन, मन मस्त-मगन बस तेरा नाम दोहराए
हो, चाहे भी तो भूल ना पाए
📓
V A N Y A
09:02 Pm, Sharma Sadan, B block, Green Park Extension, New Delhi
I swear, if I ever write a memoir, Mahir is going to have an entire chapter titled: 'The Grumpy Dictator Who Turned My Life Into a Corporate Hell.' Maybe even a whole damn book.
I throw my bag onto my bed, collapsing next to it with a groan. My entire body aches from today's unnecessary torture session—also known as work. But did I get my work done? Yes. Was it productive? No. Because Mahir, in all his grumpy, stone-hearted glory, made me and my entire team redo the same marketing proposal a million times. For what? Because he apparently woke up today and chose to make my life miserable.
I kick off my heels with an angry huff, sitting up. "Mahir Oberoi, if you weren't my husband, I'd—" I cut myself off. I don't even know what I'd do. Probably throw a stapler at his stupidly perfect face. Or a book. Yes, a heavy, hardbound edition of 'How to Not Be a Tyrant.'
The thought cheers me up slightly, but not enough to erase my frustration.
I march to the bathroom, determined to wash off the day's exhaustion. The hot water soothes my aching muscles, but my brain decides that now is the perfect time to rewind to the start of this disaster.
📎
Flashback
Coming back home after the pagphera rasam had been bliss. I had spent the entire day sprawled on my bed, reading, ignoring the world, and just existing in peace. The universe, however, had other plans.
It started with the sneezing. Then the itchy throat. And by nightfall, I realized—I had forgotten to take my allergy meds on time. Like an idiot, I popped them at night, thinking, 'What's the worst that could happen?'
Spoiler alert: The worst that could happen was me oversleeping.
When I finally woke up, panic hit me like a truck. I scrambled to get ready, and rushed out of the house without breakfast, only to get stuck in traffic that moved at the speed of a snail on vacation.
And then, the cherry on top of my misery cake—I reached the office and realized my ID wasn't in my bag.
"Are you kidding me?!" I had half a mind to scream into the void. But the void doesn't care. It just echoes back your suffering.
