Let's Kill This Love

Let's Kill This Love

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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing37m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Thu, Jun 27, 2024
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Fiction
Romance
A deep voice came from the back. "I'd like to say something" Chaya glanced up and frowned as the man made his way toward the front. What kind of idiot came to a memorial service dressed in khaki? With that deep tan and full beard, he must be one of Slade's archeologist friends. Ah, that explained it. Chanze leaned closer and whispered, "I need to" She whipped around and fixed him with a killing glare that made him back off with his hands raised. What the hell was the matter my brother? She would have understood it if he had tried to disrupt the wedding, but not the memorial service. He had liked Slade. With Chanze now suitably cowed, Chaya turned back to face the front and gazed at the man at the podium. He did look familiar. She knew she had seen him before, but couldn't quite place him. She was sure his hair used to be brown, not sun-streaked blond like that . . . and something else wasn't quite right. The full beard? It nagged at her. She knew she ought to know him, but who was he? The man didn't bother introducing himself. Instead, he nodded at the elaborate casket and said in a rich voice full of humor, "I just have one thing to say. If Slade Martinez's body was never recovered, who the hell is in that box? Elvis?" She knew that voice-intimately. Ohmigod. Chaya shot to her feet as her mouth dropped open and shocked exclamations sounded throughout the room. Those bright blue eyes, that grin, that voice . . . Slade! Slade grinned at her and spread his arms wide. "Hi, honey. I'm ho-ome" Joy filled her. Her husband was alive! Horror filled her. Her husband was waiting in the... Is that a Swoon-Cone or Swiss? Huh! The Rocky Fountain honeymoon suite, it is. Ohmigod, what do I do? Reaching out blindly, she found Chanze there to support her. "I tried to tell you . . ." he muttered. The combination of emotions was too much. As a mish-mash of feelings roiled through her, Chaya did the only sensible thing. She fainted thinking, she's married and he's alive.
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It was late at night when I heard a knock on the window. My heart thumped with fear. "Bhoot pisach nikat nahi aavey, Mahavir jab naam sunavey..." Slowly, I got up from my study table and tiptoed toward my bed, trying to decide if I should check the window. But something told me not to, so I climbed into bed instead. I was on the verge of running to wake up Mumma and Papa when I heard a sneeze and then... my name, "Pratiksha." Before I could even react, he fell directly onto the floor with a thud. "How did you-" And before I could finish, he quickly clamped his hand over my mouth. What. Is. Happening? - - - If overthinking was a sport, she would have won every time. He, on the other hand, one moment, he was the smoothest guy around. The next, he was doing something completely silly just for fun. Together, they were like a perfect mess. But a twist of destiny tore them apart. Six years later, they met again, the love that once bloomed was now buried under layers of hatred, from both sides. Could they move past the hurt, the anger and the six years that had turned them into stranger?

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