He’S My Daddy, Not My Tutor
EP 2
Calculus: open.
Brain: dead.
Eyes: gazing out the window.
Anaya Sharma/FL
*snapping book shut*
Oh. My. God.
There he was.
Shirtless.
On the balcony across the street.
Abs carved by angry Greek gods.
Anaya Sharma/FL
*blinking like WiFi lagged*
Who’s that daddy?
Yes, I said it out loud. No regrets.
Rohan Sharma/brother
*rushing to the window like a snitch*
Isn’t that old Rathore uncle’s son?
Aarav Rathore.
The boy who’d always been abroad. The legend. The ghost. The myth
I’d only seen him twice—once at his wedding. Once at his dad’s hospital visit
Rohan Sharma/brother
*casually, like it wasn’t the gossip of the decade*
He’s divorced now
Anaya Sharma/FL
*nodding wisely*
Oh, I knew. I had done… research.
Instagram. LinkedIn. Twitter. Reverse image search. That works.
Sunita Sharma/FL Mom
*serving dinner, whispering like we were in a spy movie*
Mrs. Rathore said his wife was after his money.
Sunita Sharma/FL Mom
That’s why I say—arranged marriages are best
Suresh Sharma/FL Dad
*two-finger table tap, voice firm*
No gossip at the table
Silence fell faster than my GPA in first semester.
Papa was a history teacher. The kind who looked like he could ground the whole universe. Even Maa didn’t talk back.
And me?
I dreamed of love. Fictional, messy, wild love
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