It was getting late, but I had to hand it over to him, or else poora Ghar sar pe utha lega. (or he’d go ballistic)
With a thudding heart and slow steps, I reached his room, I was about to knock on the door, when it opened from the inside, revealing an all dressed Arman with a phone in hand.
Anger coursed through me. Was he serious? He was standing all ready to go, and here I was stitching his stupid button!
When he saw me standing there at his door, he looked at me with questioning eyes, raising his eyebrow. At his silent question, I forwarded his Kameez to him, when he got, what I was here for, he extended his hand, and took the shirt from me, smirking.
The nerve of him, ghadhe!
Tossing the shirt on the nearby sofa, he gave me a once over, looking at me from head t
