Revenge Formula

one

🎈👠 chapter one . . .

swipe right . . .

simran popped a tortilla chip into her mouth as she noticed that the person on the other side had started typing. she kept her phone away, letting it buzz with notifications. she admits that it's cruel, but it's kinda fun when someone is so desperate to reach you. he was an asshole anyway. his bio gave off horrible 'alpha-male' energy. he deserved it.

seven messages in two minutes? not bad.

just being a girl drove all the guys on tinder crazy anyway.

she ate one more chip, a frown appearing on her face when she realized that her packet was empty. 

she groaned, getting off the bed, and slid her feet into the plushy pink slippers. the walk from her room to the kitchen was just a few seconds away but it still felt miles away. 

she walked up to the door, still going through her phone.

she opened the door, and stepped into the living room. her father looked up from his phone.

"simran! i've been calling you for so long—" her father began.

"—i had my headphones on." she countered, walking past him.

to be honest, she did hear him. she just pretended that she didn't.

"really? you had your headphones on?" he humored her.

simran flopped down on the sofa next to her father, "so why'd you call me?"

her father gestured at the pile of envelopes on the coffee table, "you've got mail."

"i've got mail?" she repeated, raising a brow. she rarely got texts, so getting mail sounded a bit far-fetched. a lot far-fetched.

"it's from simone, dear." he offered. 

three things struck simran then. one, when the hell did simone ditch texting for the fucking postal system? they were following each other on instagram, for fuck's sake. two, simone hadn't talked to her in a long time. five years was a really long time. why the hell was she sending her something through the post now? what the fuck could it be? three, her father went through her mails.

"papa! why were you going through my mail?!" she frowned, getting up to her feet. why did she feel her heart racing? it wasn't that big of a deal. it was just a letter from her best friend since high school, who she had kept little to no contact with.

the 'no-contact' part had been her fault too. when simone moved out of this city, they swore that they'd call each other twice a week. simone started getting busy with work, and simran was busy job-hunting (she'd yet to find a job that she really liked). the weekly calls stretched to a month, and when simone became slower in replying to her texts and left her on read, simran took that as a personal ego bruise. she didn't text her, and she sure as hell didn't pick up when simone called that weekend.

the thing about simran sangha is that she still liked to think that the world revolved around her. girls like her would never learn. she strived for validation and attention. every girl had an unhealthy coping mechanism, but simran sangha would never admit that.

"i didn't open it, beti," her father frowned, " mails are usually for me, so i was just flicking through them."

simran picked up the discarded envelope, ripping it open, causing her father to wince.