Rain fell in delicate whispers over Kolkata, turning the city into a poem no one had finished writing.
Rickshaws glided like ghosts through the puddled streets. Fairy lights flickered outside cafés where half-drunk cups of cha cooled slowly on chipp...
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Happy Reading To All My Dear Readers!!❤❤ __________
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I woke up. Not to the foggy chill of London mornings or the soft hum of red double-deckers outside my flat... But to the warm, sticky air of Kolkata. Still slightly confusing, ngl. Three-year-old habits die harder than your first love, babe. ❤️
My eyes fluttered open to see the empty tub of Dutch ice cream silently judging me from the side table. Hair? A mess. Outfit? Still last night's vibe. Mascara? Probably on my chin.
I groaned and sat up. Streeeetch. Back cracked so loud I thought I might've unlocked a new yoga pose or accidentally summoned a demon. Not sure which.
3:30 a.m.
The London Gang's flight was landing in less than 45 minutes, and I was sitting here looking like a potato who once had dreams.
I rolled off the bed, flopped to my slippers, and shuffled to my bathroom. My cute little shower. Tiny fairy lights around the mirror, pastel peach tiles, and a vanilla-scented body wash that deserves its own fan club.
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I looked in the mirror. "Today's the day you meet your past, your pain, and your chaotic people all at once, babe," I muttered. "And you're gonna SLAY."
Cranked up the shower. Hot water. Perfect pressure. Therapy? Overrated. Shower breakdowns? FREE.
I did the whole hair flip, the "pretend you're in a music video" thing, and lowkey even practiced a smirk for Aryan. Not that he deserves it. But hey. Gotta keep the enemy on edge.
Out of the shower, wrapped in a towel turban and bathrobe, I danced to my "Airport Arrival" playlist while throwing on a fit.
