Delicious Ambiguity | the rainbow named trust

All Rights Reserved ©

Chapter 5


She’s full of too much fire to be living in such a paper world.

I sense his eyes on me—sense his uncertainty, and his anger is palpable. I glance up, and his eyes glitter with apprehension.

“I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up...” I answer him. He shakes his head.

“What are you doing here?” he sighs and closes his eyes for a second before looking at me. His weight was off my body as he balanced himself on his arms. Lying below you? My inner goddess gazes at him in quiet, surprised speculation. My subconscious stares at me open mouthed. I have to say I love these occasions—my subconscious, Miss Intellectual Geek, Maira Ahluwalia, silent and floored—they are so rare. I take a brief and luxurious moment to enjoy it.

“I—I had to—” I pale, and he runs his hand through his hair, bristling with barely contained anger. I glare back at him. I wasn’t wrong in this situation.

“Do I have to repeat myself?” he glares down at me, caught off guard by my audacity, I think, but he’s trying to simmer down the fury emanating from every pore.

“Nothing,” I look at him from under my lashes after staring at the ceiling for quite some time. There wasn’t a way out of this situation. He gazes at me as if he can’t comprehend what I said.

His eyes have an ocean like depth and I for one am known for diving. I literally can feel it this time. The sinking. The free fall into the unknown depths. The forbidden affair. DON’T! My subconscious yells.

In order to move forward we have to abandon our old ways of thinking. I never thought it’d hurt this much. I had so easily given away the truth like hand-me-downs and comfortably wrapped myself in his lies like it was a coat. It came to me as I was gazing at him that maybe the depth of my grief was never analogous to the profundity of my love.

Zaahid and I were inseparable. No one would’ve anticipated that it would go this way, but that’s okay. He helped me through gauche, tough, and intensely uncomfortable times. He was my unbeatable rock when I needed strength and my stomach-hurting laughter when I was crying. I want to thank him for being him. He is genuine, kind and selfless.

But, I’m sad. I’m sorry we grew apart. We used to naturally fit in together so easily, but we lost our co-existence so abruptly, so randomly. One day we were giving each other the recalcitrant looks, laughing at our inside jokes until one of us fell on the floor and the next we weren’t giving preference to our relationship. But, I don’t have any antagonistic feelings. He is the best part of my past. I will always think back on our ‘days’ and hope my kids always have a friend like him. Until a year ago, even the mention of his name used to sting, today I am glad we have infinite picture albums.

We both have gone down separate paths, but we’re positively thriving. I just want him to keep doing his thing, keeping being “him” and fuck whoever says a no. I can’t refer to him as an ‘ex-best friend’ since that is a long way from reality. We are essentially best friends who floated. I’ll think of him as a friend forever however. So, no matter the time that passes, if he ever needs anything, he should know that I’ll always be there.

I may not be aware of his expressions anymore and I may not be his ‘person’ anymore, but that’s okay. I had my chance in that position and now another person will be honoured with his brilliance—even if that’s Penelope. He had such a positive impact on me when I needed it the most. I’m so thankful that he was a part of that chapter of my life. Without him, I wouldn’t have made it through some of the most horrendous days following Ultimate Sing Off. I want to thank him for the evergreen memoirs, for the ludicrous pictures, for the endless photoshoots, for giving me a second family, for his support, and for being my best friend.

I’ll cherish him until the end of time.

Genuineness never came to me as effortlessly as it came to him. He could offer smiles to even the most objectionable person we saw, like he had a boundless supply that would never run out. And he understood the way I came bundled up in a bubble wrap package in a not-so-neat manner without the nitty gritty clarification of what was inside. Still, he dove in headfirst accepting the challenge and explored beyond the surface to uncover the challenges and complexities that I couldn’t put in words, even if I tried. He had a proclivity for winding my point of view with the goal that I could be an idea of ‘good’ even when I wasn’t always labelled ‘good’ in my own head—especially on those cold nights after the show or those covered-in-my-own-shit nights in London.

And I learned that beneath Zaahid’s shiny exterior, he was just as multifarious and there was more than what met the eyes. I struggled to fit him into a part of my world because he trickled into every aspect of my daily life—even when I knew it was forbidden. I could sense him in the leather jackets I had started wearing because of him, or the sudden love for trainers I had developed, or that yin-yang tattoo I had inked onto my wrist, about which he is completely unaware of, even today, or the oil paints I had bought the other day because he showed me that colours could bring vibrancy in our lives. I was an art person—I know, but I was limited to the blacks and whites.

Every aspect of my life—I could see him, sense him, hear his echo.

It’s like being a kid again and building forts out of bed sheets and lounge area seats to assemble a gutsy world in a little corner of your home. Regardless of alternate spots to play in, I always looked for asylum in the heedless fortress that could break with an ill-fated move. That’s such a fancy way to define “unrequited love” isn’t it?

There is so much discovery and hope Zaahid can create from a blank state and a world unknown. In him, I perceived a space where I could undoubtedly cut out another world. The sun, at last getting through the unshakable mists after it rained wildly for a short couple of minutes and him righting my wrongs with only a trace of grin.

I have been fascinated by Zaahid for as long as I can remember. I had developed this sickly obsession for him last year and it wasn’t one of those “phases” I had, this time it was real. I was enthralled by him, like the ancients loved the night sky, like the nascent leaves of spring loved warmth, as I stood there with the knife in my hand and blowing out the candles with him. My love for him was quiet; slow, a little—a girlfriend—late and always strong. I wanted it to last a lifetime not go up in flames like firecrackers.

Love isn’t finance. There is no give and take; there is only selfless giving. Since the past four years there is so much I want to tell him, so much that I desire him to hear, so much that I hope he understands. I don’t regret him for sure—he was exactly what I needed all those years ago and he is exactly what I can do with today.

I stare into those hazel eyes which were looking down on me and I see them change form. My subconscious pads down into the waters of the past. His eyes are expanding and enlarging and they have taken the form of the stage. The depth of his eyes is comparable to the sapphire blue light that had been falling onto me as I stood on the dimly lit stage. The strip lighting on the borders of the Ultimate Sing Off stage had given out diffuse beams of light while the fog machine had added to the misty, pathetic-smelling air on stage. The scoop lights had lighted the backdrops. Strong blue laser lights had hit the stage after completing a hundred and eighty degrees turn and a strong yellow spotlight focused on my back as soon as I had hit the first note.

I had floundered momentarily. My eyes flew to Stephan, I couldn’t see his face in the dark, but he had tilted his head, gaping at me, most probably. As soon as the dim lights fell on the judging panel I had observed that he looked oddly at me, like he was having some internal struggle. Eventually he had smiled as I regained my composure, and I finally had peeled my eyes off him. The judges had stayed quite immobile for a few seconds as if the last song sung by Cherry Foxes had put them into a stupor. Am I to blunt? I had questioned myself, a small frown crowning my forehead. That’s putting it mildly! My subconscious had bursted out laughing. Are you laughing at me? At this time—when I am on stage—of my performance? I had hissed at her. I wouldn’t dare, she had replied with mock seriousness.

Ignoring her snide self I had looked up to the noisiest corner in the room. Familiar warm smiles and eyes glazed with adoration meet mine and I couldn’t help but quirk up my lips in a small smile at my friends. The placard they held high read, “All the best Lioness, we love you!” and signed in glitter was, “your BIGGEST fans.” I had batted my eyes at them, silently whispering a thank you and muttering a prayer to thank God for giving me such supportive and uplifting friends.

Now, I smirk at the thought, shaking my head in defiance.

The first note came out flat and my cheeks had flushed. I stopped, the music stopped. Then the introduction played again, and that time everything went right, my hands began to move and every note was perfection. My voice had come out strong despite my nerves and I had carried the tune as if I was born to do it. “Midnight, you come and pick me up, no headlights; long drive, could end in burning flames or paradise.” One by one the faces in the audience had turned from tuned out to tune in, as I sang, Style by Taylor Swift. I had folded my fingers, scandalously posing with long nails as my eyes grinned lasciviously.

The background dancers allotted to me—as, I quote, “‘supposedly’ a lone artist couldn’t cover the entire stage”—had moved along to the beats in the backdrop. I had kicked my leg in the air and completed one pirouette, while the dancers had joined me on cue. Yes, I, Maira Ahluwalia of the House of Clumysville had made a pirouette in four inch heel sandals. Finally! My subconscious had giggled and applauded. My inner goddess had bowed gracefully, grinning.

I had used my free hand to follow the drum beats of the song while my head and my feet were jamming along. I had raised my eyebrows, cocking my head to one side. My heart was pounding and adrenaline had spiked through my body...boy...that was thrilling. I had glanced at Stephan, his eyes had widened with surprise but a smile was tucking at his lips as he had mouthed, “so proud of you”.

Looking over to my left, I had seen a glimmer of covetousness in the eyes of Cherry Foxes. Penelope had stared down at me, but as she did, her expressions had changed, confusion washed over her and the atmosphere on stage had shifted—abruptly tensing. Jane had taken a step back from her position—on the sides of the stage—and her expression for a moment was fearful, and then she had feigned it in. What? My subconscious had run her hands through her hair, pulling on the roots. Jeez...she was really bewildered.

My heart had picked up a beat as I sang. I had an ecstatic glee stuck on my face. My voice had gained power and my eyes were gleaming with confidence. I had engaged with the audience by having eye contact with them and directing lyrics at them.

I had flushed for a moment when I accidentally pointed out, “You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye, and I got that red lip, classic thing that you like,” at Zaahid, who was at one corner of the table with Nolan on his left and Harry on his further left. A slow, sexy smile had spread across his lovely face, and I was rendered speechless as my insides melted. He closed his eyes momentarily, savouring my words, I had supposed. He held my gaze, until I pulled away. He’s the most beautiful man on this planet. My inner goddess had scowled. Don’t you think you should concentrate on the performance that’s going on instead of “Zaahid Noori” from Symphony Thrills? My snarky subconscious was back, hatchet mouthed, cardigan on, and purse in the crook of her arm. She couldn’t hide her irritation.

I had returned to the centre of the stage by the last paragraph, and again made swift movements towards the main troop of dancers. Mid way into the chorus, I had felt a little snip, and somehow I thought that it was with the wires that lined the stage but my brain felt that my ear-piece was losing something. I had shaken my head. I didn’t want to think about it then. You’re good. You’re good. Relax. My inner goddess had tried to help me maintain my calm. NO! I think there is something w- My subconscious had protested but I had slapped her down. I can hear the monitor, so please SHUT UP! I had defended myself.

After the final note was sung I stood breathless for a silent moment that was soon filled with applause.

“Earth to Maira...” I come back into reality to see Zaahid waving his left hand widely in front of my face. Hazel eyes look down on me, his expression unfathomable.

“Huh?” I manage to say, looking questioningly up at him.

“Did you hear me?” he asks his voice stern.

“Huh?” I’m incapable of speech. I am still trying to unriddle my situation from texting Gia to ultimately falling under him.

“I just asked you to explain how you landed below me?” he says, watching me closely. He raises a censorious eyebrow at me.

“You and I will have plenty of time to debate the ethics of my actions. Get off me now.” I talk back at him.

“Maira—” He looks like he wants to argue further but decides against it at least at this point.

“Zaahid I have more important things to attend to than answer your stupid question.” I snarl, pushing him roughly off me and getting off the bed. I scuttle off towards the study table after grabbing the laptop from the bed.

“Stupid question?! Who knows you were raping me or something! Because the last time I checked I was alone in this bed,” he asseverated, sitting on the bed, crossing his legs and bringing the duvet around him to cover himself—a man cave sort of thing I used to do when I was seven.

“Excuse me?” I turn around at his accusation. I flush and blink at the same time, as he stares down at me. Dafuq? His brow furrows.

“What? Just tell me—”

I cut him short and give him an honest rundown. I just leave out the manager bit because it was MY issue and had to be solved by MY team and Zaahid isn’t on my team anymore. Going over the utter lunacy again is humiliating. I throw my arms over my eyes. He says nothing. I peek up at him from under my arm, and he looks amused.

“Right. Something fell on me…anything you want to say about that?” he murmurs and fails to hide the sarcasm out of voice. He doesn’t believe me. Not a shocker, really. My subconscious states and I become aware of her underlying shade for Zaahid.

“My bun loosened, so...” I am crimson.

“Whatever. Get out of my room now! I need sle-sleep,” he yawned.

“I want to get out of your house.” I mutter to myself as I turned to the desk.

“Okay then, out of my house!” he says loudly. My eyes snap up from the table to stare blankly at the window.

He heard me?

Did I just say that out aloud?

“Yes. You did,” he says as I hear him pulling the covers onto himself as he might have lain down.


“Ahaan,” he agrees and groans.

“Now move out of my house,” he answered.

“As much as I want to, but I can’t because your mum is coming up tomorrow morning to stay here with ‘us’ for that “anniversary” thing, and that too until the AMA’s which are scheduled for next month!” I harshly snap back at him as I move towards his side of the bed and bend down to grab my phone which had fallen over and under the bed due to the little stunt Zaahid pulled off.

“What?!” He immediately sits up in bed and pulls off the covers from his face.

“Yeah and she—” I start to say as I get up.

“Careful!” He cuts me short and I find him sitting beside me on the floor with his hand on my head preventing a head injury from the edge of the bed.

I look over to him and find his eyes laced with genuine worry.

“Your mum’s not here right now so you don’t have to pretend to be the ‘caring and protective—’” I snap at him as the reality hits me that this morning this man walked in after spending a night with another women.

People say there are a million different ways to say, ‘I love you.’

‘Put your seat belt on.’

‘Watch your step!’

‘Did you eat?’

‘Get some rest.’

We just had to listen. So was “careful” his way? I can’t help but question. I was brought up believing that love has the ability to travel through time and for some reason Zaahid and I have forgotten that. I considered—the world—considered us as the perfect match, the absolutely stunning duo, the magically gifted team and maybe that is exactly why we burnt out? Oh Maira, will you ever live this down? My subconscious is tutting at me, shaking her head.

“Pretending? Who is? I just want to save that peanut sized brain of yours. I can’t afford to have it more damaged than it already is!” he cuts me off as he pulls me out of the bed.

I roll my eyes at him and walk out of the room.

Right now I’m a mixture of very happy and very sad. And I’m trying to figure it all out, all these emotions and words and thoughts and what they all mean, especially, “careful!” Everything I feel is a contradiction of itself, and I do not understand any of it.

Happiness is awesome, but the universe doesn’t revolve around a smile. You’re not going to be happy all the time. No one ever is. Sometimes you’re just going to sort of exist, and that’s okay.

Learn to be satisfied with “content” and “calm” and “not sad.”

Not sad is good.

Not sad is great.


I had stomped out of Zaahid’s bedroom and entered another luxurious, just-taken-out-of-a-magazine room. Everything about the house screamed “elite”, “millionaire”, “glass-houses”, “expensive interiors”, “living the larger life”, you get the hang? But this wasn’t the case four years ago. Four years ago, this house was a “home”, a happy place for two individuals—for almost two years—who could communicate, laugh, love and live. But now, six years after Ultimate Sing Off, he and I just exist, he lives in this art gallery, free graffiti display museum house while I harbour another.

Placing the laptop on the bed and logging onto my social media, I scroll through the messages I had received and the fan mails. I answer a few questions flashed at me, when my phone pings again and takes my attention off the laptop screen.

“Babe? I need help!” Delivered, 9 AM. 30th October, 2019.

“I don’t have a date tonight! How am I going to attend Darcy’s birthday party?” Delivered, 9:02 AM. 30th October, 2019.

Rockstar aka Logan Heath is the perfect magnet for problems. His six feet three inch frame with a tuft of blondish-brown hair and fair skin attract the most embarrassing, complex and insanely placed situations, issues and problems. His five year musical career in Southern Contagion has changed his life completely. Now he travels the world and performs in front of audiences and now will even “judge/mentor” shows. He has definitely come a long way from uploading videos on YouTube of himself singing.

Logan Heath, my best guy friend, met me in a chance encounter. Our first meeting which I don’t very well remember was when I was pretty drunk and he was my saviour on my first birthday celebration in London. Long story—don’t even ask.

Our second meeting or the official first one (as we go about telling people) was when I knocked over a hot cup of coffee on him while he sat on a stool working out on some tune on his guitar, the morning of the day I was scheduled to meet the band, later in the evening.

He was irritated by me in that entire meeting to say the least. You really knew how to make first impressions, didn’t you? My subconscious mocks seriousness, I shrug at her nonchalantly.

And today at ten in the morning he is texting me with ‘girl problems.’ Ever since he is this the Logan Heath from Southern Contagion he has always had dates to party venues, to music award shows, to premiers, to concerts. Always. So, right now the text looked like a really bad attempt of wanting attention.

I prepare myself to reply back to him, but before I could press “send” my phone starts to ring. Caller: “Coffee Zombie.”

Gia is a fine lady yet at the same time has the extravagance of youth. She has a certain film and television actress star look, not excessively tall and delicate, but rather more like an action packed movie starrer. She isn’t a gymaholic but still her muscle definition is immaculate and she comes across with a confidence of somebody 10 years more seasoned. She has been gifted with a flawless bone structure just like her brother, and her slightly freckle brushed skin sometimes resembles silk. When she walks into a room, she is an astute delight.

Some people never escape their childhoods, not really. It’s like a part of them that doesn’t feel safe in the adult world. Gia is like that, always in clothes that never really show her shape and prints that are more suited to a teenager or younger person—not to her thirty two years old self. She is the most childlike adult I’ve ever met, but talking to her is so refreshing. She lacks the guile and complexity of my other friends, what you saw is what she is.

The world still excites her; she sees opportunities ahead, a life of crazy fun and high-quality health. A once science graduate from Sheffield Hallam University and after playing her stint as an editor for various magazines across Britain is now my manager of four years. Due to her managemental skills I could think of attending Darcy’s birthday tonight.

“Hello?” I say.


“Oi!” I say raising my eyebrows questioningly, biting my lips, lying on my stomach on the bed and facing the window.

“I have good news and bad news for you. Which one do you want to hear first?” She asks as if she is in dire straits. I hear utensils clank and heels click on the marble floor of her kitchen.

“What? – Okay...bad one? Let’s just get it done and over with.” I say in response, my eyebrows furrowed.

“The bad news is that Mr. Louis Cooper didn’t agree to your proposal and now you’ll have to work with his team for a song or two...” she replies meekly putting extra emphasis on Louis.

“What?! Oh no!” I spring up from my position and now sit up overtly alert on the edge of the bed, my legs hanging down by the side. I leap out at Gia.

“Wait. Wai-wai-wai-wait. Wait. Wait! A song? Or two?” I dramatically chant ‘wait’ before I seriously question her.

“Maira you know I love you right? You know that you are one of my best friends right? Maira you know that you’re family to Harry and me right?—”

“Stop brown-nosing me. Tell me the truth!” I shush her up and snap at her.

“Maira we—”

“Gia I need a number.”

“Maira actually-”

“Gia Spencer I think you heard me! I need a number!” I yell at her as my insides eat me up with anxiety. If Gia is faltering this much to reveal the news, it’s probably bad. My subconscious rears her ugly head, leering, and I’m shocked and nauseated at the thought.

“Lower your volume!” I hear an all too familiar voice yell from other part of the house. It is Zaahid.

“Maira calm down please—” Gia starts to say again, the utensils noise have stopped and I feel her standing in one place, bending a bit and bringing her hands forward as if I was before her, her trademark habit.

She is my forever friend. The relationship we share is special and that is something I don’t have with any other person in this world. I never become weary of being around her. She is the sole individual I know who hasn’t started to perturb me for reasons unknown. Time races past us when we are together. For us, no subject is off limits. We tell each other everything, and I mean, everything—except the secret that I have been holding onto from the past four years. Her family is my family, and my family is hers. It’s not bizarre for me to be at her place all the time with take away pizzas and fizzy drinks, or to even show up randomly after shows at really strange hours or just decide to spend the night even though I live like—three houses down the lane (except she isn’t aware of that house of mine).

And of course, her family welcomes me in like I’m another one of their daughters. We have a wacky sense of humour that only we understand. Whether it’s the nights we spend binging on weird Netflix shows or watching foreign movies with no subtitles at 2 A.M. that make us laugh till our stomachs hurt or commercials on TV that make no sense. There are things that are only funny to the two of us. We embarrass each other together, often. We can pick up from where we left off.

If you know someone like me and her you should know that we don’t talk everyday—besides the schedule she gives out to me everyday. We might catch up once a month but that gives us so much more vivid things to talk about, to gush about, to fangirl over—like how Justin Beiber got engaged to Hailey Badwin, how the new single from Adam Levine stars Millie Bobby Brown, how Brandon Flynn shone in the new season for his Netflix show. A quick conversation between takes and practices doesn’t satiate us. At this point, conversations don’t even begin with “hi” anymore; we just jump right to the point and tell each other what we need to.

Gia, my best friend and the only one who makes me giggle at funerals—don’t ask.

So today it breaks my heart that I have to shout at her. Gia is trying to cover up the mishap. She is taking her time to find subtle words or ways in which she could wrap up the blow that was about to hit me and cause the least damage.

“Gia Spencer I am asking for a number! Give me a number!” My scalp prickles as adrenaline and fury lance through my body, all my worst fears soon to be realized.

“Fi-fi-five,” she whispers in a small voice and I am surprised that I could hear it.

“What!?” I stand up from the bed and I’m pretty sure my eyes have snapped open.

“I’m-I’m so-so sorry. They wouldn’t negotiate to a lower numb—” she maunders an apology. I can mentally perceive her shaking her head, her loose bun dancing along, and her eyes tightly shut, brows furrowed and pangs of guilt emanating from within her.

“You have my dates diary right? Where is the time?” I ask narrowing my eyes at her in a somewhat calm tone because I knew it was useless to scowl at her. She did whatever she could.

“We will have to work on that...”

“Oh! Do we?” I sound like a sophomore on amphetamines, too high pitched even for my own ears.

“Maira I do have good news.” I sense her glancing nervously around the room, biting her nails.

“That won’t change my mood! Come on G five songs with Louis’s team? Hell no!” My heart leaps, beginning a jittery thumping beat. I close my eyes momentarily, taking in a deep breath, reopening and focusing them on the pictures of the wall. The walls of the room look familiar but I can’t put a finger on what exactly my brain is trying to signal me. Not this right now. My subconscious replies, leaning down on my shoulder. You’re right. I agree with a nod. I have to focus on the mess Gia has created when she was working on the mess my ex-manager had made. What’s with you and managers? My subconscious rolls her eyes at me. I ignore her.

“I bet this news will change your perspective of today,” she suggests.

“Try me.” My mouth is set in a grim line, jaw tense.

“The good news is that all your interviews and concert shows for today have been cancelled and postponed to another that means you’re free for the day and you can have a lovely Sunday to yourself,” she says with probably a self-congratulatory look on her face, if I correctly judged her tone. The clattering of utensils have resumed along with added noises of opening and closing of cabinets.

“What?” I say in disbelief.

“Oh! And you have to attend Darcy’s birthday tonight.” A spoon fell on the marble floor followed by a loud gasp of a young boy. Running noises reach me followed by a pair of heels clanking on the marble floor.

“Yeah I will. But who did all of this?” I respond after a beat, trying to gauge Gia’s reaction.

“I did. I kind of made some shitty excuse to the interviewers that you were busy and all—not that you weren’t, you were, I just exaggerated it—because I couldn’t make things work our way with Mr. Cooper’s kind of making up for that and the shows were cancelled due to some technical problem in the stadium you were supposed to perform in,” she explains, holding in a grunt.

Heaving breathing sounds reach my ear and a meek; “I’m sorry, mum,” can also be heard.

“Thank you! This is some real great news.” I throw myself on the bed.

“Thomas, you broke my favourite plate! You’re so done honey.” she states calmly but her expressions would be everything but calm. “Oh, Maira you still there?” she asks after giving her son a good glare, I perceive.

“Yeah?” my voice is quiet with no trace of humour. You surely can act. I’m impressed. My subconscious comments, observing my capability to stifle a grin at Gia, while my bête noire bows gracefully.

“You will have to tweet something about the show getting called off.”

“I will. I won’t disappoint my fans,” I say.

“So? I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yes, you will. Gosh the Spencer siblings have asked about my attendance to a birthday party for the umpteenth time now! Leave me alone!” I try to pull off an ascent.

“Better luck next time with the Italian ascent.”

“Italian? I was going with Texas accent!” I fake gasped.

“Told you, you aren’t good at impressions—” she stated in a matter of fact-ly way but abruptly stopped mid-sentence.

“You are still there?” I question her.

“I’m coming Jeremy! Listen, I got to go. I’ll see you tonight? Yeah? ” she yells on the other side of the line whilst she returns to talk to me.

“Yeah…bye Gia, I love you.” I nod my head and reply.

“Love you. Bye,” she giggles and hangs up the phone.


His love, roared louder than her demons.

“I was choking in the crowd, building my rain up in the cloud
Falling like ashes to the ground, Hoping my feelings, they would drown. But they never did, ever lived, ebbing and flowing, Inhibited, limited. ’Til it broke up and it rained down,It rained down, like” Song: Believer by Imagine Dragons

Please drop me a comment or a vote if you think this deserves it and give me a chance to improve. All the love as always, Mahak xx

Continue Reading Next Chapter

About Us

Inkitt is the world’s first reader-powered publisher, providing a platform to discover hidden talents and turn them into globally successful authors. Write captivating stories, read enchanting novels, and we’ll publish the books our readers love most on our sister app, GALATEA and other formats.