Four guys connected by family.
Four girls connected by friendship.
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"Dont give me that look." I say, trying to break the eye contact.
"Like what?" He steps closer.
"Like if I ask you to burn this world, you...
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Song: Ahista Ahista🎶
There are two kinds of hangovers in life.
The first comes with tequila shots, bad decisions, and waking up with a stranger's hoodie on your floor. The second-the more vicious, soul-draining kind-comes from emotional overload. Too many arguments, too many stares across rooms, too much pretending like things aren't falling apart when everyone knows they are.
Guess which one I had.
I lay spread out on my bed like a corpse awaiting resurrection, eyes fixed on the ceiling fan clicking overhead like it was mocking me.
My room was too quiet. The silence felt unnatural after the chaos of the farmhouse-like the world had suddenly hit mute and forgot to press play again.
My phone buzzed on the side table. Fifth time this morning.
I rolled over with the energy of a soggy napkin and checked it.
Mahi: Bro wake upppp we're coming to your room in 5 Haiza: Also wear clothes, we're bringing food Amira: Ignore them. Be free. Viva la resistance.
I groaned.
I loved my friends. I did. But after everything that happened at the farmhouse? The screaming, the fainting, the Faraz storming out like an emotionally unstable K-drama lead-I needed a day of silence. Or a week. Maybe a coma.
Another ping.
Haiza: We just saw Faraz. Man looked like he fought a bear and lost.
That got a laugh out of me.
Of course he did.
Because that's what happens when you bottle up your feelings, explode them in front of everyone you know, and then run away like a drama queen without saying a word. Classic Faraz behavior.
I dragged myself out of bed, limbs heavy, soul heavier.
University was calling.
Yay.
My planner lay on the desk like a personal insult, judging me with every unchecked box.
"Contemp Lit Pres. - Wednesday. START WORK YOU LAZY EMO." Thanks, Past Me. Love the tone.
I splashed cold water on my face and stared at my reflection. I looked like I hadn't slept in a decade. My hair was a mess. My eyes had that glazed, over-it look you only see in war veterans and group project survivors.
University me and farmhouse me were two entirely different people.
University me wore oversized blazers and tried to be taken seriously.
Farmhouse me got dragged into other people's drama and barely survived the emotional battlefield.
I hadn't even unpacked yet. My suitcase sat by the door, judging me silently.
