Dil Jaanta Hai | ✔

nine

||CHAPTER 9||
《¤》

The way the teenagers had been dancing to the beats of the Korean song, no one could tell that it was 10 p.m. Even if the neighbours disapproved, their complaints were drowned by the blaringly loud music of KoKoBop. I was leaning against the railing of the first floor with my glass half filled with Thumbs Up, watching my sweaty classmates trying to sing along in a language probably none of them knew. Karan Bahl's birthday, apparently, was a big deal, and so was his house. With his parents gone away for the weekend, he had the house to himself, something he often did.

The door behind me opened, and Ritwik emerged out of the bathroom. With a once over of him, I turned back to the party.

"Enjoying?"

"Totally."

"Hey, don't be sarcastic. This party ain't that bad!" He joined me.

"You know me, I'd never do that. Don't you see how entertaining that is?" I pointed at the dance floor. 

"Well, if you cannot shimmy it like Shammie, you can definitely shimmy shimmy kokoBop!"

I actually laughed at that. "Seems like Ishita does have a Pun Competitor. You're not that bad."

"So's the drink," he pointed to my glass. "They aren't spiked, you know."

"Why should I believe you?" I raised my eyebrow.

"You know your brother, he wouldn't let alcoholic stuff inside."

I scoffed at that. "Who'd know better?" I offered him my glass which he happily accepted.

"Geez, sorry," he sniffed the glass. "I often forget the fact that you and your twin don't always go twinning."

"That was one of the worst puns I've ever heard."

After a while of stargazing at the dancing stars, I decided to go downstairs. Avoiding the crowd, I walked my way to the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator. Grimacing at the smashed remnants of the chocolate double layer cake that Vansh had ordered, given the fact that it was more on the birthday boy's face than inside anyone's stomach, I swiped my index finger in the chocolate cream, licking it.

And when I turned around with a bottle of cool water, I was confronted by a grey hoodie guy, staring at me from the doorway. Clearly, I was caught.

And so, tilting my head, I raised my eyebrows and stared right back.

He stepped inside the kitchen, standing opposite me with the granite counter between us.

"Greetings," He nodded.

"Pleasantries aren't my thing."

In my mind, I was sizing him up. I was no martial artist, but I did have my share of self defence classes, and this guy looked creepy.

"Does it taste good?" His voice was gruff, probably due to smoking.

"Chocolate is my jell-o," I replied, observing his droopy eyes and dragging lines.

"You don't seem to be enjoying the night." 

"And you seem to be a creep. What's the point?"