Aparna Sawant, a woman who prioritizes her independence and fulfilling career, has never subscribed to the idea of happily ever after. Marriage, for her, is a practical decision.
Varad Oberoi, a successful businessman hardened by past experiences...
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A P A R N A
"Girl, another rose? That's number eight since Tuesday. You're turning this apartment into a freaking Taj Mahal foyer," Antara declared, plopping down on the couch next to me and holding out a pristine white rose.
With a dramatic sigh that would make Rani Mukerji proud (because Bollywood nights were clearly the new weekend nights, unemployment courtesy of Varad, the jerk!), I shoved the rose aside and dug my spoon into the pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream. "Whatever," I mumbled around a mouthful of cold, deliciousness.
Antara raised an eyebrow. "Whatever? Wasn't ice cream and rom-coms a Saturday night ritual? Now it's a Wednesday afternoon snack?"
Ugh, did she have to be so observant? "Look, it's not like that," I mumbled, defense flicking up like a cobra hood. "I just... need some comfort, okay?"
"Comfort, huh? Because clearly watching 'Chup Chupke' for the third time this week screams comfort and not drowning your sorrows in Shahid Kapoor's charm." She wasn't wrong. But there was something about those classic Bollywood scenes, the over-the-top drama, that felt strangely soothing right now.
"Fine, fine," I conceded with a sigh. "Maybe I am a little... emotional. But for your information, it's not because of stupid Varad Oberoi."
Antara snorted. "Oh yeah? Because for a girl who spent the last few days complaining about how much she hates Varad Oberoi, you sure are acting an awful lot like his girlfriend."
"Ugh, would you quit?" I snapped, glaring at her. "You know why I'm ignoring him, Antara. If it wasn't for his whole 'marriage ultimatum' nonsense, I'd still have my job!"
Antara shifted closer to me.
"Uh oh, brace yourself," I muttered, scooting away from Antara like a cat with a hairball. No way was I getting sucked into another Varad lecture.
Antara, bless her meddling heart, just smirked and snatched the remote like a ninja stealing candy. The TV flickered off, plunging the room into a dramatic darkness that only made my scowl seem even more menacing.
"Hey!" I shrieked, momentarily forgetting my self-imposed silent treatment. "That was my favorite scene. Rude much?"
Antara, completely unfazed by my dramatics, plopped down next to me with the air of a therapist about to drop some truth bombs. "Listen up, buttercup," she began, her voice surprisingly gentle considering the situation. "I know this whole job thing sucks giant hairy balls. But seriously, you chose to marry the guy, remember?"
I shot her a glare that could curdle milk. "Yeah, that's like my biggest regret right now if you haven't noticed."
"Look," she sighed, "I'm not saying it's sunshine and rainbows, but hating Mr. Oberoi won't solve anything. The dude's clearly trying, even if his efforts are about as subtle as a neon pink elephant in a library."
