𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧

Kya bolti hai public! Sab badhiya hai na!

Hey you… yes, you, the beautiful human reading this story—first of all, thank you from the bottom of my chaotic heart for picking up this book! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

Before you dive into Adhira’s world of drama, confusion, mafia princes, twin sisters, mysterious boys with two names, and enough filmy moments to make Karan Johar proud—I just wanted to say a few things.

Nope, I’m not revealing my name.ಡ⁠ ͜⁠ ⁠ʖ⁠ ⁠ಡ

Why?

Because I believe in mystery and privacy(⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠) (and also because my personal life is already enough of a dramatic web without adding author fame to it).

Also—surprise! I’m not even 20 yet.(⁠◠⁠‿⁠◕⁠)

Yep, you read that right. I’m still a baby, just out here trying to make sense of life, school, hormones, and plot twists… not necessarily in that order.

So, if you ever feel the urge to comment something harsh, please remember: I’m a sensitive cinnamon roll, and if you break my heart, I will cry for 7-10 business days, probably while eating chocolate and dramatically staring at the rain.ಠ⁠ᴥ⁠ಠ

This story? It hit me out of nowhere—like a flying chappal of destiny—while I was listening to the song “The Devil Within.”

And before you start wondering how this butterfly-filled, Bollywod-style, mafia-mystery romance connects to such a dark, intense song…

Don’t.

Seriously.

Logic and I are not on talking terms.ಠ⁠‿⁠ಠ

I write with vibes, not formulas. I create from emotion, not equations. So please leave your logic at the door and bring popcorn instead.

And if you find yourself laughing at Adhira’s inner monologues, or rolling your eyes at her clumsy moments, or swooning over Rajveer/Ricardo—just know… you’re actually judging me too, because Adhira’s personality? It’s 90% me with a sprinkle of main-character syndrome and a whole lot of sass.

At the end of the day, I just want this story to make you feel something—butterflies in your tummy, dramatic gasps, loud laughter, or maybe that cute little smile you didn’t know you needed today.

If your stomach hurts from laughing and your heart flutters like a pigeon on Red Bull, my job here is done.

So thank you.

For trusting a baby author with your precious reading time.

Now go ahead… flip the page. Let the madness begin.

With all the love and filmy drama,

—Your unnamed, emotionally unstable, not-so-mature-but-super-grateful author

authorkaleshi(⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)