✧ Arshiya Raizada, daughter of a multibillionaire businessman and a renowned fashion designer. Mega-rich? Check. Spoiled? Most definitely. Brat? On occasions. Rulebreaker? All the time.
✧ Roshan Singhania, son of the state chief minister. Bad boy...
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Arshiya
[Year 2 - June]
After dinner, we huddle around the living room of our farm house. The ladies are in the kitchen scooping ice cream for us to have for dessert. The men are having an argument on which team is going to win the UEFA Euro Championship. Aarav, Annie, and Rihaan are having a different debate on cricket. Sanya, Kriana, Shreya and I are planning out our day for tomorrow.
When the bowls of ice cream are brought out piled on a couple of trays, I extend my arms with my fingers doing a 'gimme' motion. "Me, me, me." I can become a child when it comes to any and all kinds of sweet delicacies - even something as basic as ice cream.
Mom walks towards me, and I grin, thinking she is going to hand me a bowl. Instead, she passes it to Ishaan. She smiles sweetly at him while my jaw drops, "Here you go, Ishu."
She cannot be my mom!
Traitor.
Who picks their kid's best friend over their own kid?
Yes, I am being dramatic. I know it. She smirks at me and walks off to distribute the rest around the group. I don't care though, because like I said, that guy is my best friend. With a chuckle, he passes me the bowl. Returning to a grin once again, I take it greedily and stick my tongue out to mom as if to say take that. When he starts to get up to get another bowl for himself, I grab his wrist and tug him back. "We can share," I pass him the spoon.
Minutes later, my phone vibrates in my lap. Checking the caller ID, I stand up and walk away from the living room because everyone is speaking loudly. I warn rather than a simple greeting - I never do anything simple, if we haven't established that by now. "You better not be calling me about something stupid again."
Roshan defends his earlier phone call, "Calling to ask when you were returning is not stupid."
"It is when I am still in Mumbai. You're the one in Delhi."
I can imagine him rolling his eyes, called out on the flaw of his argument. "Whatever." His go-to comeback when he has none.
"Seriously, we need to get you checked out for separation anxiety. This is twice in one day, Singhania."
"If you are that bothered by it, then fine. I'll stop calling." Throwing a silly tantrum, he ends the call.
I would let it go if I wasn't curious as to know why he had called in the first place. With that, I dial back and phrase my curiosity as, "You are not allowed to hang up on me," when he answers the call.
"Raizada, I am seriously not in the mood for this." He snaps, and that has the playful teasing leave my nerves.
I sense something serious hidden in his tone. Concern quickly replaces our usual banter. "What's wrong?" When he doesn't answer, I ask differently. Softly. "Roshan, are you okay?"
