Revenge Formula

two

🎈👠 chapter two . . . 

ayan wasn't really expecting a call from his ex-classmate at eleven in the morning on a tuesday when he was on a coffee run for his boss.

to be frank, ayan wasn't expecting anyone to call. it's one of the very limited perks of being extremely lonely in your twenties.

to say that he almost jumped when he saw the caller id would be an understatement.

it was simran sangha. the she-devil herself.

his fingers felt sweaty as he took his phone, staring at it as if it'd sprout wings any second now.

simran sangha was everyone's worst nightmare in college. she was a fucking narcissist, literally bloated with self-importance. she was a pain in everybody's ass. she was the living embodiment of louis vuitton and gucci. the party girl™. she looked down at almost everyone. nobody could say no to her. nobody wanted to know what would happen if they said no to her. ayan could go on, but nobody wants a fucking monologue about how much of a brat simran sangha was. 

well, it had been a few years after college. he'd give her the benefit of  doubt. simran might've changed now. working a full-time job, paying taxes and doing your own laundry tended to have an effect on people. 

but why the fuck was she calling him?

sure, they'd exchanged their numbers when he'd run into her at the café. he'd initiated it. it was only because he didn't want simran to think he was a pervert. although, staring at her for a good five minutes definitely said otherwise. in his defense, he was just trying to make sure that it was the simran sangha. he planned to avoid her, and his top priority was to get out of that café unnoticed as soon as possible.  but when she turned towards him with that 'i'll fucking kill you, you fucking perv' expression, ayan knew he had to say something. and like a fucking loser, he asked her if he remembered her. in what alternate dimension was the simran sangha going to remember him? he was a nobody in college, high school, middle school—well, pretty much most of his life.

nevermind that. the most pressing issue was why was she calling him? did she really want to catch up? he'd just said that to get out of that situation.

he took a moment, trying to figure out what to say when he picked up.

his mind came up blank.

fuck it.

on the fourth ring, he picked up.

"er, hello?"

he may have sounded a bit breathless.

silence.

he could hear breathing on the other side.

maybe she'd called him by accident or something.

"hello?" he repeated.

"it's simran." simran spoke finally. 

"i know. i'd saved your contact." he winced.

ayan wondered if he'd replied too fast, if he'd spoken too fast.

"did simone d'souza invite you to her wedding?" simran asked. her voice was low. he had to strain a bit to hear her.

simone d'souza. simran's second in command, if you may. everyone's second worst nightmare. it's like they were carbon copied versions of each other. some people are just destined to be friends.