Page 125 of Drunk On Love

And that was her yes.

♥?Epilogue(Kiara)

Three months later

Okay, yes—I know it’s my birthday eve. And yes, Manav is acting weird. Like, suspiciously silent weird. He’s been on the phone with someone for the past twenty minutes, and I swear, when I walked into the room earlier, he FUMBLED. You heard that right. The man who can recite molecular gastronomy theory like bedtime stories dropped his phone like it was on fire. And he dared to look at me and say,“It’s work.”

But wait. It’s not just him. Roy has been surgically attached to his laptop for the past three hours. He keeps muttering things like “metadata inconsistencies” and “this is going to ruin her”—which, honestly, sounds like something an evil author says before destroying a fan-favorite character.

Myra? Don’t even get me started. I walked into the study and caught hercrying. Real, full-blown, tissue-in-every-pocket kind of sobbing. And when I asked her what was wrong, she said—and I quote—

“Ugh. Dust. I have… conjunctivitis. In both eyes. Simultaneously.”Then she tried to moonwalk out of theroom while tripping over a chair. Very smooth.

And Meeta?That woman has eaten 47 cheeseballs in the last thirty minutes. I counted. Once, she paused mid-bite, looked at me dead in the eyes, nodded solemnly likeshe knew something I didn’tand then went back to inhaling the bowl like it was oxygen.

Honestly, the only person who seems vaguely human today is Kartik. Although I’m not sure “human” is the right word when his wife is lying on the kitchen counter with ketchup on her nose.

His exact words to me were:“Don’t be mad, but… there’s no birthday party planned for you tonight. And please don’t tell Manav I told you. But I care about you, and you deserve the truth.”

Then he ran. Like,sprinted. And locked himself in the pantry with a suspiciously party-shaped box.

So now, here I am. Sitting on the porch. Alone. No birthday party. No candles. No surprise. No glitter.

Just my brain spiraling into oblivion, and the last remaining cheeseball Meeta didn’t get to.

Do I feel slightly betrayed? Yes.

Do I feel slightly dramatic about it? Also yes.

Am I pretending I don’t care while secretly caring more than I should? Absolutely.

And honestly? I’m just hoping someone had the decency to include cake in this act of birthday disaster.

I sighed and stared up at the stars, wondering if they, too, were conspiring behind my back. Because let’s be honest—something wasdefinitelyup. The silence in the house was suspicious. The behavior? Weird. The people? Weirder.

The sliding door creaked open behind me. I didn’t have to turn to know who it was. That walk had a rhythm—asmug, confident, zero-stealth kind of rhythm. Roy.

He plopped down beside me with a loud sigh, “You know,” he began, “when you were about to be born, I asked Mom if we could return you.”

I blinked. “Wow. That’s how you’re starting this?”

“Yeah. She said no. Called you the ‘gift we didn’t know we needed.’ I called you a glitch in the system.”

“Please stop before I throw this cheeseball at your face.”

“Do it. It’s probably stale. Like your sense of humor.”

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile slipped through. A traitor.

“You’re really upset no one planned a party?” he asked, a little softer now.

“No. I’m upset because everyone’s acting like they’re ghosts and forgot I exist.” A pause. “…Also, yes. I was kind of hoping for cake.”

Roy exhaled. “You always wanted a big birthday, huh? Even as a kid. Remember the year you cried because your cake said ‘Happy Birtday’ without the ‘h’?”

I chuckled. And hated that I did. Roy turned to face me fully, his expression disarmingly serious.

“Kia… I know I act like a sarcastic idiot 80% of the time—”