Too old.
Too tall.
Too rich.
Too out of my league.
That's Aryan Arora, the billionaire CEO for me. But apparently, he is the perfect marriage material guy according to the world's pushiest parents of mine.
Getting married was neve...
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Mood is equal to spoiled.
Dignity is turned into ash.
Embarrassment is touching the skies.
And Sunday plans are entirely ruined.
I violently threw some tomatoes and coriander on the top of the omelette which was cooking on the skillet, imagining the omelette to be Aryan's face and tomatoes to be nuclear bombs.
Having only a hazy memory of what happened last night I was internally dying of mortification. And then that jerk had to rub that in my face, first thing in the morning.
Ughh!
I didn't know whether I should kill myself or him.
Waking up hungover on Sunday mornings wasn't something new for me. Weekends were usually the times when I allowed myself to get wasted and just release all the pent-up tension of the week. But now, I can't even do that safely!
From the few talks I faintly recollect from yesterday, I am pretty sure I asked him if I could touch his muscles or something along the same lines and then how I begged him to hug me.
Pathetically weak.
God, How will I be able to face him again...Forget about him, will I ever be able to look into my own eyes in the mirror, remembering all of this?
Serving my classic hangover omelette for breakfast, I poured myself some chai in the hope that some calories inside my system would give me the resilience to survive my life ahead and not jump off a cliff.
Unconsciously humming some tune, to strengthen my coping mechanism, I made my way towards my bedroom.
I couldn't eat in the dining room, figuring that Aryan was going to be there. Knowing him, he wouldn't leave a single chance to make fun of my pitiful moments of drunkenness, as he did a few minutes ago.
Just as I was tiptoeing through the dining area to reach my room with my gaze downward to avoid eye contact with him, he shouted my name, "Ria!"
I turned towards him in slow motion to face him, gave him my most scary glare and asked through gritted teeth, "What!?"
His lips stretched into a big grin, making his dimples pop. Stupid. Stupid dimples.
I hate him. I hate them.
"You didn't tell if my abs are visible or not in this white t-shirt? The offer to touch them stands still if you want to." He made a big show of flexing his body, sitting there and looking at me smugly.
"I can't say this more politely but, Fuck you," I said in a stern stabilised voice and nearly sprinted towards my room with as much false pride as I could muster inside myself.
"Do tell me if you want a hug!" His laughter echoed throughout the apartment. Jerk.
I could feel the vein in my head throb uncontrollably as I got inside my room to shut the door and block his jerky ass.
