The morning sun, a belligerent intruder, speared through the gap in the curtains, stabbing Vihaana’s eyelids. A groan, low and guttural, rumbled in her throat as she burrowed deeper into the tangled sheets, the cotton a flimsy shield against the assault. A persistent buzzing, a mosquito trapped in a tin can, vibrated somewhere near her ear. SNOOZE Again. And again. Until the buzzing morphed into a frantic, high-pitched shriek.
“Vihaana! Uth ja! What in the name of all that is holy is happening?” Anvesha Wadhwa’s voice, a banshee’s wail, ripped through the last vestiges of sleep. A thud, then a clatter, followed by a series of muffled curses. “My foot! My poor, innocent foot has been assaulted by Aradhna's… Muchi Muchi Novels! Hayee re mera perrr..”
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