AUTHOR'S POV
Around 2 p.m., the men finally stirred from their drunken slumber, their heads still throbbing with the remnants of a hangover. Groaning and grumbling, they somehow managed to drag themselves upright and sipped on lemon water like it was an ancient healing potion. As the sourness kicked in and their eyes adjusted to the cruel light of day, panic set in—they lunged for their phones with shaky hands, expecting a flood of missed calls, frantic texts, and furious voice notes from their better halves.
But the screens told another story: Nothing.
Just a few work emails… and the usual flirty Zomato push notifications reminding them they were still single in the eyes of food delivery algorithms.
Abhiraj exhaled heavily and turned to Daksh, giving him a look that could curdle milk.
“What the hell kind of juice did you order, idiot?”
Daksh gave a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his head like a guilty schoolboy.
“Darling, it was just a tiny mix-up. The delivery guy must’ve switched our healthy juice bottles with… um… something more spirited.”
“No wonder my skull feels like it’s hosting a metal concert,” Rishi muttered, massaging his temples.
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