By the time I got to the bar, the night was settling into that nice, hazy vibe where the loud music and dim lights make everything seem a little more relaxed. I spotted Amartya right away, sitting at a high-top table near the back. His friends were already gone, but he was still there, waiting for me.
"Thought you'd bailed on me," he called out with a grin as I approached, tugging off my jacket.
"Please, like I'd miss out on a drink after the hellscape I just survived," I scoffed, sliding into the seat across from him. "You'd have to drag me out of here kicking and screaming."
"That bad, huh?" he chuckled, raising an eyebrow. He motioned to the bartender for another round. "You look like you've been through it."
I threw my hands up dramatically. "You have no idea. My day was like one long episode of *Survivor*, but instead of winning immunity, I just got more problems."
"Sounds like a dream," he teased, passing me the menu. "What're you having? The bartender already knows my usual."
"Honestly, something strong," I said, scanning the options. "Whatever numbs my brain the fastest." I tossed the menu down. "Get me a whiskey sour. I'm in that kind of mood."
He raised his glass toward me as if to say "good choice" and then flagged down the bartender. A couple of minutes later, my drink arrived, and I took a long, satisfying sip. "Okay, so let me break it down for you," I started, setting the glass down with a thunk. "My fabric shipment? Gone. Poof. Like, the universe said, 'Nah, Maya doesn't need that to run her business.' And to top it off, half my workers just decided to dip right when I needed them the most. Like, is it a requirement for everyone to lose their damn minds at the same time?"
"Yikes," he said with mock sympathy. "Sounds like everyone just hit you with the good old-fashioned 'not my problem.'"
"Exactly!" I leaned forward, waving my hand for emphasis. "And then, in a meeting, my so-called 'designers' had the audacity to present me Pinterest knock-offs like we were a high school project and not a real damn fashion brand. Like, hello? Did I accidentally hire interns?"
"Please tell me you fired someone," Amartya said, eyes glinting with amusement.
I snorted. "Almost. I was this close. But you know what? I just gave them that smile—the 'I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed' smile—and I swear I saw at least two of them sweat through their shirts. So, that was satisfying at least."
He laughed and raised his glass to me. "Cheers to that. Power move, Maya."
I clinked my glass against his. "Damn right it was. What about you? How's your day been? Please tell me it wasn't as soul-crushing as mine."
He leaned back in his chair, a grin creeping across his face. "Oh, you know, just your typical day. A bunch of clueless interns running around, some ridiculous meetings, and my dad's people breathing down my neck, trying to micromanage everything. Classic 'let's pretend we know what we're doing' energy."
"Ugh, micromanagers," I groaned, rolling my eyes. "Do they seriously think they're helping by being all up in your business?"
"They act like I'm five," he muttered, shaking his head. "Like, bro, I got this. I know what I'm doing."
I smirked. "Do you though?"
He threw me a playful glare. "Hey, cut me some slack. I'm not the one copying designs off Pinterest."
I laughed, feeling some of the tension from the day melt away. "Fair enough. But seriously, it's like some days the universe just decides to hit you with all the crap at once, just to see how you handle it."
"Pretty sure that's called being an adult," he replied dryly. "We're all just winging it and hoping no one catches on."
I grinned, taking another sip of my drink. "Honestly, that's the most relatable thing I've heard all day."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "So, any plans to fix your designer crisis? Or are you just gonna roll with it?"
"Fix it?" I huffed. "I'm gonna go in there tomorrow with caffeine in one hand and a new sense of purpose in the other. No more Mrs. Nice Boss. We're getting our shit together, whether they like it or not."
"I like that energy," he said, smirking. "You should bring that same vibe to the bar next time we're here. Intimidate the bartender into giving us free shots."
I laughed, shaking my head. "You joke, but if I'm still this stressed tomorrow, I just might try it."
We fell into an easy rhythm after that, the conversation flowing from work horror stories to random topics like movies, music, and the time Aarohi tried to sing karaoke and nearly broke the sound system. The drinks kept coming, the atmosphere grew warmer, and the weight of the day slowly slipped away.
"Okay, serious question," Amartya said suddenly, a smirk playing on his lips. "Do you think Aarohi will actually kill me if I don't show up to her birthday next month? Because, honestly, I'm considering just sending a gift and pretending I'm sick."
"Oh, you're absolutely dead if you do that," I said, laughing. "She'll hunt you down. No question."
He sighed dramatically. "Damn. Guess I'll have to suck it up."
"Yup. You're trapped, my friend," I said, leaning back in my chair. "No escape."
We shared a smile, and for a moment, I let myself relax completely. Today had been a nightmare, but sitting here, laughing with Amartya, it didn't seem so bad anymore.
Maybe this was exactly what I needed.
We were deep in our rant session, swapping horror stories about work when the bar doors swung open, and in walked a group of girls. They were loud, they were giggling, and, of course, they were all stunning. Not really the crowd I wanted to compete with tonight, not after the day I had, but whatever. It's not like I had to care, right?
Amartya, ever the goof, raised an eyebrow and leaned closer to me, eyeing them like he was some kind of modern-day Casanova. "Alright, Maya," he started with a smirk, "which one should I pick?"
I stared at him for a second, blinking. Was he serious right now? "What do you mean?" I asked, trying to play it cool even though I could feel my stomach twist just a little. I mean, we were just here for drinks, right?
He just kept smirking. "C'mon, which one?" he said, nodding toward the group as if he was making some grand life decision. "Black dressed one in the middle? Or the one with the red dress?"
I felt my eye twitch a little. Seriously? I took a deep breath, pretending it didn't bother me, even though my hand was gripping my whiskey glass a little tighter. "Why stop at just one?" I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Pick all of them. Go ahead. Seems like a solid life plan."
He laughed like it was some sort of joke, totally missing the fact that something inside me was, I don't know, off. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was just the sheer exhaustion from my day, or maybe—just maybe—I didn't love the idea of him checking out other girls while I was sitting right there.
But whatever. I didn't want to sit around and watch him pretend he had options when I was right there, damn it.
I stood up, still holding onto my whiskey, and took a deep breath. "You know what?" I said, my voice laced with enough sarcasm to cut through steel. "I'll leave you to it. Clearly, that's the part I play here—background friend while you pick your next conquest."
Amartya blinked at me, totally thrown off. "Wait—what?"
I didn't even give him time to finish before I turned and started walking toward the door, still clutching my drink. My mind was racing, and I was trying to figure out why I was even reacting like this. He didn't mean anything by it, right? So why the hell did I feel like this?
I muttered to myself, "What's wrong with me?" just as I reached the door, and suddenly, I felt the cold whiskey sloshing over my hand. In that split second, I realized I had been gripping the glass way too tightly. The next thing I knew, the damn thing shattered in my hand. Pain shot through my palm as tiny shards dug into my skin, but honestly, I barely felt it. My head was too busy spinning over everything else—Amartya, the girls, my day from hell.
I paused at the door, staring down at my bleeding hand, trying to process what just happened. The security guard standing nearby noticed and rushed over, his eyes wide with concern.
"You okay, miss?" he asked, reaching out like he wasn't sure whether to help or just call for someone.
I shook my head, still kind of dazed. "Yeah," I mumbled, fumbling with my purse. "Just... here." I pulled out a handful of 500-rupee bills, shoving them into his hand. "This should cover the glass."
The guard looked down at the money, clearly confused. "Miss, you don't have to—"
"Just take it," I insisted, brushing past him as I reached for the door. I could feel the sting from the cuts now, but I didn't care. I just needed to get outside, away from everything for a second. Away from Amartya, from the stupid comments, from whatever the hell was going on in my own head.
As I stepped out into the cool night air, I took a deep breath, trying to get a grip. I glanced down at my hand again, watching the blood slowly trickle down my fingers. Great. As if this day couldn't get any worse, now I'm standing outside a club bleeding like some kind of dramatic idiot. I leaned back against the wall, trying to clear my head, trying to figure out why I had reacted so strongly back there. I mean, it wasn't like I had any right to be mad, right?