Discover Top Posts Tagged with #delhistart

Popular Recent

you know that ed sheeran song about waking up under a tree missing a shoe? I’m pretty damn sure I was the inspiration for that song.

#bc im extra ilias is getting a starter too #hellurrrr #delhistart

“I’m thoroughly convinced that the staff at CCD and their grandmother now believes I’m insane for laughing like a maniac at my phone... alone.”

“In my defense, the India Vs Pakistan memes deserve the seal laughter.”

#its been too long #wow #hi im pari #delhistart #starters;

“ and here i thought you were different, ” rahul sighs, running his fingers through his hair only to have a few strands force their way out again, “ but you’re breaking my heart just like the rest. ”

#delhistart #ᵈᴬᵐᴺ ᴵᶠ ᵗᴴᵉˢᵉ ʷᴬˡᴸˢ ᶜᴼᵘᴸᵈ ᵗᴬˡᴷ { CHATS }#pls ignore rahul he's always this extra and filmy

Samaira sighed as she plopped down onto her couch with the last remaining tub of Belgian chocolate ice-cream she had found in her fridge, wearing her favourite and most unfashionable Tom and Jerry pyjamas. No one would have thought she was the Samaira Rathod, looking at her right now. After a gruelling 48 hours spent negotiating with a bunch of pigheaded American company executives and another 7 hours spent in a layover, the last nail in the coffin had been when her boss had simply said ‘Ciao’ before zipping away in his BMW, without so much as hinting at a promotion. She had 8 missed calls-4 from her parents, countless unread texts and a boyfriend who was semi-mad at her-if he felt anything for her at all.

Do I drive everyone away from me, or do I drive myself away? she mused. 10 years ago, when she had run away from Jaipur, it had been the latter. Viraaj Singh Rathod, the scion of Rathod Industries, was dead, killed in a car-crash two weeks before his coronation. The shock of the incident gave Karan and Shweta Singh Rathod the much-needed impetus to finally call quits in their loveless marriage. As for Samaira? No one noticed in the midst of the chaos as she packed her bags and slipped away to join Delhi's most elite boarding school. In the past 10 years, this city had given her so much-an education, an exclusive lifestyle, freedom from her conservative relatives, a man who- at least up until recently-seemed to love her, and enough to keep her so busy she would never have time to grieve over her elder brother. Except that why was it then that she felt so alone? The doorbell rang, breaking her thoughts.

Did God just hear my prayers and send me a pizza delivery guy?

'Coming,' she said, quickly running her fingers through her hair and hoping whoever it was wouldn't notice her disheveled state.

#delhistart #also woohoo exams finally over #i could use a pizza rn

There weren’t a lot of significant differences between Jai’s current and past occupations - being a Major in the Indian Army and being a bodyguard for Sharma’s girl required a lot of waiting around, lots of shifty eyes, too much overreacting. Any slight movement he caught from the very corner of his eyes had the possibility of being imminent danger. (More often than not, it was just some curious bystander trying to get a closer look.) Well, the coffee was definitely much better. Not much scope of good coffee when you were stuck in between two melting glaciers.

He did miss the food though. And he wasn’t sure if it was just because he spent close to 4 years freezing every cell in his body in Siachen or because Delhi was just that fucking hot but god, he had to change his shirts at least thrice a day. That of course meant he changed from one shade of grey shirt to the next shade of grey.

He suppressed the fifty shades of grey joke resting on the tip on his tongue (he had binge read it when he first came back and found all the characters to be major bores) and rolled down the car window instead, calling over the young boy loitering the streets with cold water bottles. He stuffed an extra hundred into the small hand with a half grin and was just about to roll back up the windows when the traitorous corner of his eye picked up on signs of trouble again.

The part he hated about his current job: he was so fucking bored out of his mind at times that he, Jai Shergill, king of all recluses, would willingly to go up to the person struggling with a seeming immovable car. His nose twitched at the distinct smell of fuel leakage and cleared his throat, one hand still clutched around the now condensing bottle.

“Need a hand with that?”

#delhistart #hi pls don't worry about the length #i just tend to write a lot #occupational hazard #just realised i have no idea about cars

rahul realized he’d been making a mistake. no, he’d realized that he’d been making a mistake when he said ‘ next round’s on me ! ’ to a bar full of people he had never met, high on endorphins and whatever sludge of alcohol was running through his veins. he was way past the point of mistakes now. now, he was veering dangerously close to a disaster. and rahul had not had one of those ever since sophmore year of college when he’d accidentally hit on his girlfriend’s sister right in front of her, and then later threw up on her shoes ( the girlfriend not the sister ). yeah, he still got nightmares, and ptsd flashbacks from that.

and yet, rahul singhania was nothing but predictable. he’d gotten into that all because of a girl, here too - he insisted on getting sloshed because of a girl again. except this time was different. this time, it wasn’t just for fun. it wasn’t just because the girl was pretty. sure, kavya was pretty but more than that - she was beautiful. she glowed. he would sit for hours in that coffee shop, watching her laugh behind the counter as she made conversation with the other baristas. forget that, he had never thought a person’s eyes could light up brighter than the sun when rahul had dropped some coffee on himself the other day.

he would gladly drop coffee on himself any day of the week just to see her smile. rahul glanced down at the Johnnie Walker in front of him before clutching it to his chest as the bouncer ushered him out. even then he was polite, apologizing profusely through slurs for being such a handful. the bouncer dumped rahul in a cab and somehow he’d rattled off his address. or at least, an address a street down from his own.

he sat on the sidewalk, bottle still clutched to his chest and one shoe missing. “ why doesn’t she love me man ? why can’t she take me seriously ? ” he turned to the silhouette he could see. “ it’s because i’m too rich isn’t it ? and she thinks all rich boys are asshole. but i’m not. i’m not man ! ”