CHAPTER FIVE

"I don't wake up beautiful. I wake up late, confused, and usually stepping on something I left on the floor last night."

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Scene: Chaavi’s apartment – Morning

The alarm blared at 7:00 AM.

It wasn’t until 7:27 AM that a hand shot out from beneath the tangled comforter, smacked the phone off the nightstand,

Chaavi, curled up like a burrito in her blanket, opened one eye and groaned, “Five more minutes... bas dus din se bol rahi hoon.”

(“Five more minutes… I’ve been saying that for the last ten days.”)

Ten minutes later, she rolled off the bed with the grace of a wounded penguin, hit her knee on the table, and hissed, “Good morning, dukh.”

(“Good morning, pain.”)

In the kitchen, Harsh was already sipping coffee. “You know you have to leave in forty minutes, right?”

“Shhh… don’t stress the queen while she’s suffering,” she muttered, brushing her teeth like a warrior preparing for war. She shuffled around, bumping into walls, knocking over a water bottle, and stepping on a tangled phone charger.

“Perfect. Great start to being a responsible adult,” she mumbled, sitting on the floor with her hair sticking up like an electrocuted porcupine.

Twenty minutes later, she was brushing her teeth with one hand and replying to emails with the other, all while yelling, “Koi chai banado yaar! Emotional support beverage chahiye.”

(“someone please give me some tea, I want an emotional support beverage.”)

As usual, the house was a riot.

Aarav, lounging on the couch like it was his ancestral throne, raised an eyebrow. “Tumhare ghar ka GPS bhi confuse ho jaye, itni baar girti ho tum.”

(“Even your house GPS would get confused with how often you fall around here.”)

Chaavi paused mid-step. “Aur tum ho kaun? Itna aaram se kyun baitha hai? Tumhare dad ki itni badi company hai, fir tum ya toh Ruhaan ke office mein hote ho, ya mere ghar mein!”

(“And who even are you? Why are you sitting so comfortably? Your dad owns such a big company, yet you’re either always in Ruhaan’s office or at my place!”)

Aarav grinned. “Mere dad ki company hai isiliye toh wahan kaam nahi karta. Free mein chill karna toh haq banta hai na, pagal ladki.”

(“It’s because my dad owns the company that I don’t work there. I’ve earned the right to chill for free, you crazy girl.”)

Chaavi grabbed a toast and rolled her eyes. “Tumhara toh bas baseless confidence award banwana chahiye.”

(“You deserve an award for the most baseless confidence ever.”)

Harsh chuckled. “Tum dono ko dekhke lagta hai reality show banayein. Naam rakhen – ‘Kalesh Unlimited’.”

(“Watching you two makes me want to pitch a reality show. Title – ‘Unlimited Drama’.”)

Chaavi plopped down next to Aarav, one leg folded up. “Arre, meri zindagi mein jo drama hai na, uska 50% tu hai. Baaki 50% meri khud ki stupidity.”

(“Hey, 50% of the drama in my life is you. The remaining 50% is my own stupidity.”)

Aarav held up a coffee mug in mock salute. “Cheers to your self-awareness.”

The scene simmered into comfortable chaos—mug clinks, lazy music from Harsh’s speaker, and the clatter of cutlery as breakfast was served. But somewhere under that easygoing tone, Chaavi’s thoughts were spinning around one thing:

Work. Today. Again. With him.

Chaavi stuffed the toast in her mouth and yelled over her shoulder, “Main nikal rahi hoon. Agar meri gaadi wapas kisi ne chhedi toh main police se pehle chappal uthaoongi.”

(“I’m leaving. And if anyone touches my bike again, I’ll pick up my slipper before calling the police.”)

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