What would you do if life gave you lemons? Well, that depends on what you want out of life, or the lemons, in this case. Neha Verma would probably make the lemonade, dilute it, and then sell it in batches for a profit. She has the potential to become a lemonade tycoon and much more. But, being from the Indian Middle Class, her life is filled with a zillion other complications. Kabir Mehta has a lemonade factory ready-made for him but, there is a small problem. He doesn't want it. He has wings and he cannot stop flying. The enticing lemonade cannot tempt him enough to make his feet land on the ground and, neither can his persuasive parents. Neha could really do with a bit of flying and Kabir might find that the lemonade is not as sour as he thinks it would be. Caught in the middle of so many dreams and expectations, will they find that missing piece of the puzzle before their own twisted lives get in the way? **** I update every Monday and Friday :D

"People never knew what was really happening because I always hid it,I had a depression no one knew about,and depression isn't always that girl crying in the bathroom,or that guy always frowning in the halls. Sometimes it's the people who are all smiles and good grades. Sometimes the one who love the most are fighting the worst demons." the cover i used for this book is an edit by @dolanzbup on ig

Il était derrière moi, son torse compressé contre mon dos. Son souffle brûlant s'abattait sans pitié contre ma nuque, faisant ressortir toute une palette de sensations, aussi folles et macabres les unes que les autres. - Qu'est-ce que c'est que ça, Louis? Son doigt exerça une pression sur le mien, me faisant appuyer sur l'aguicheur. La balle traversa la salle, transperçant pour la énième fois ce corps, étalé au sol. - Un BVE 356 Customised. Bégayais-je, le souffle court. Ses bras courraient le long des miens, nos mains se joignant sur cette arme, pointée vers l'avant. - Et qui suis-je, Louis? Sa voix résonnait contre les murs, sa voix résonnait dans mon esprit. Trois autres balles traversernet le cadavre, en guise de points de suspensions, devançant ma réponse. Un monstre, tu es un monstre.