Trishal’s POV
I rushed in, looked at myself in the mirror, and saw my long hair sticking up all over the place like some refugee who had just been brought in from the wilderness. I palmed my face with both hands and groaned.
“So you were looking like this in front of him, Trish. Really?"
I rushed to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and splashed some water to rinse my face. Combing through the tangled mess on my head with my wet fingers, I pulled it all into a rough knot at the base of my neck. I went to my closet, picked a yellow t-shirt with some writing on the front—a gift from Neymar—pulled on denim shorts, and rushed downstairs. The whole building seemed quiet, and I heard voices coming from outside, so I went to check.
“Is that for me?" Corman asked, looking at me in both confusion
