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
𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐤𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐤𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐣𝐚𝐡 𝐭𝐮𝐦 𝐡𝐨
ओ रे लम्हें तू कहीं मत जा, हो सके तो उम्र भर थम जा
💌
𝗩 𝗔 𝗡 𝗬 𝗔
08:12 Am, 28th April, Monday
I walk out of my room, smoothing the pleats of my blue saree, feeling oddly confident after a good shower. The white blouse fits perfectly, and for once, my hair actually listens and falls down my back gracefully instead of looking like a post-apocalyptic mess. I feel, dare I say, elegant. Sophisticated.
The kind of woman who steps into a room and commands attention with her mere presence.
And then, I step into the kitchen...
And all that grace dies a tragic, immediate death.
Because there he is.
Mahir Oberoi.
Standing by the kitchen island.
Shirtless.
SHIRTLESS.
I freeze. My fingers tighten around the edge of my saree.
My entire system malfunctions.
His workout shorts hang dangerously low on his hips, sweat glistening over his torso like he was sculpted by the gods purely to test my patience. His veins, oh lord, his veins! They trace the length of his arms like an artist's finest strokes, protruding every time he moves.
My eyes trail up. The column of his throat. The bob of his Adam's apple.
My pupils dilate.
And before I can stop myself, my brain decides to betray me.
I imagine his veiny arm around my throat.
My back against the wall.
A sharp, heady thrill courses down my spine.
"Vanya?"
OH MY GOD.
I snap out of it so fast I nearly trip over my own dignity.
What the hell, Vanya?!?
My face erupts in flames. I jerk my gaze away, desperately searching for salvation in the kitchen tiles. But he doesn't let me. He calls my name again and I flinch.
