Page 92 of Drunk On Love

“He better…” She mumbled before drinking a glass of water and setting her alarm for 4 a.m. Yes, you heard that right—4 a.m.Holy God.

By 10 p.m., she was already fast asleep. I stayed in her room, surrounded by the familiar warmth and nostalgia it always brings. Whenever I visit her, I stay in her room. It feels like a time capsule of all the stories and love she’s shared with me over the years. It makes me nostalgic, but it’s worth it. Always.

After back-to-back calls with editors and publishers, followed by a rapid-fire questionnaire session with Dadi, I was drained. A huge shout-out to the kind souls who had tagged my photofeaturingManav on every social media platform—because, of course, Dadi had spent a good ten minutes staring at his picture as if she could summon his entire personality just by analyzing those pixels.

I collapsed onto the bed, my eyes closed, mentally planning my packed schedule for the next day—a meeting with producers about movie rights, followed by finalizing plans for Dadi’s birthday. My phone chimed. I was too tired even to pick it up from the side table. But finally, I did.

It was a message from Manav.

Manav:Are you still alive?

Me:Looks like I am.

Manav:Dadi didn't murder you?

Me:Not yet…

Manav:Let me know if she needs some help.

Me:She thinks you’re some Hollywood star.

Manav:Why?

Me:Because she found you on Instagram. Checked your profile… and your abs.

Manav:Should I be worried?

Me:And she thinks you don’t love me.

The typing indicator appeared immediately, and his next message popped up so fast it almost made me jump.

Manav:But I do…

I froze, staring at the screen as if it had just revealed the winning lottery numbers. He’s kidding.Obviously.But reading those words from him felt like an electric jolt straight to my heart.

I don’t know how long I stared at my phone, trying to figure out how to respond. Another chime broke my trance.

Manav:Don’t tell me you’re sleeping with Dadi.

I burst out laughing before typing back.

Me:I am…

Manav:Wearing that ridiculous piece of nightwear that you call clothes?

I stifled a laugh. Thankfully, Dadi slept like the dead.

Me:Mr. Oberoi, are you trying to find out what I’m wearing?

The typing dots appeared, paused, disappeared, and reappeared, playing a game with my already anxious heart. Finally, the message landed in my inbox,

Manav:Maybe… Am I allowed to ask?

Me:We’re… friends.

Manav:Friends?

Me:With… benefits.