"I think you should stop being so mean to me, Zahed."
"Why would I ever do that?"
Aryan grins, a bright, wicked thing.
"Because I kiss you like this."
•
Mira Zahed and Aryan Shankar are at war.
When her best friend and his cousin decide to fall in...
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♥ ♥ ♥
I CAN NEVER BE PEACEFULLY WOKEN up in this damn house.
The rampant knocking on my door lets me know that it isn't Herrera. He never knocks.
It yanks me rudely from sleep, pushing my hair out of my eyes as I sit up amidst my sheets to blink groggy eyes at my door.
The sun is pale in the sky and the water laps lazily at the sand outside the large window to the right of my bed. It's a rather peaceful sight to wake up to. Such a shame I have a cousin called Kajal whose fist does not rest upon my door.
"Good morning, Kajal. Please consider giving my door a break," I call sleepily.
Kajal knocks. Rather loudly. But she knocks, only because she'd barged into my room at our grandmother's house one weekend years ago when I'd been left alone only to be greeted by a very naked, very smug blonde in my bed. I think the experience haunts us both because every time she catches me eyeing any blonde, she looks a little green. Personally, it haunts me because I'd been in the middle of something, interrupted by my antsy cousin and her little frame and her incessant shouting. Needless to say, my friend was promptly run off by Kajal who really had been channelling her mother, my aunt, that day.
I'm surprised she hadn't beaten me with a slipper while she was at it, honestly.
"Are you decent?" She asks, hand on the doorknob I imagine.
Someone snorts from behind her. "Morally?" I hear Kenna's voice. "He's Aryan Shankar so, no."
Great, I get two early morning visitors, I think to myself as the door is pushed open.
Kajal, when I stand next to her, reaches just about at my bicep. She's wearing her hair in twin French braids and it makes her look young, rather unthreatening. Her gold, strappy sandals stomp across my bedroom floor and barely make a sound against the carpet yet I know better than to dismiss that temper of hers. She's clutching a phone in her hand.
Kenna slinks in behind her, idling in the doorway.
The amused grin on Kenna's lips is my first sign.
My second sign is the fact that Kajal all but chucks the phone in her hands at my chest.
My reflexes kick in, arms lifting to catch it before I'd been landed a blow so early in the morning. A blow from little Kajal would most definitely hurt more than anything Herrera could manage.
"Read it," she snaps, hands falling to her hips. I know if I tell her she's starting to look like her mother with that pose, she'll fling something else at me so I keep my mouth shut smartly, eyes falling to the phone in hand.
