Third floor.
Pov: shree.
“You’re fucking with me.” My tired voice cuts through the thick air.
“Language young lady! This is your home not your ‘friend circle’.”
*only if she knew I don’t have a ‘friend cirlcle’.*
So, I roll my baby blues.
“Mom. I am not going to a 80 dollar tuition. What if the teacher there—“
“Your Shree Gaurav would be there, Shree.”
*my eyes widen comically.*
“You’re kidding. Nope.”
That Shree Gaurav was my first and favourite crush. I’m not kidding.
“Mom. No!”
“Please. You’re getting passed only. You need to get more marks and work more harder and you know it.”
That line from mom really hits me.
I’m failing my Spanish, French.
“Whatever.”
next day,
I was late to my tuition because of the traffic in Delhi and the small narrow valley that teacher lives in.
I was dressed in a blue flannel with a light brown jacket on top,paired with a slim fit bootcut jeans and crocs. I basically looked like sam Winchester.
It was a small house he teaches in.
And I had to climb up to the third floor.
I saw unfamiliar faces. And then, I saw him.
The unnatural hunter green eyes, tanned skin, lean body.
It was like a spark that had never really ended since 3rd grade.
We never talked casually. Just glances.
God he had grown up.
So had I.
I mean I’ve gotten older, soft around edges but I got pretty atleast.
He even had a small beard now. And I’m not so good at remembering faces.
I’m just a girl with big blues, kind of fair skin and wavy hair.
And I’m a shy girl with big men.
