𝟎𝟒| 𝐇𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐃𝐚𝐲

❝You're not the first, darling,

you won't be the last I don't need to tell you my present or past You can call me crazy, but it just turns me on What will you do, dear, if we get caught?❞

𝐏𝐎𝐕: 𝐒𝐈𝐍

The sunlight slipped through the gaps in my curtains and hit me straight in the face. I groaned quietly and scrunched up my eyes, instantly annoyed. It wasn’t harsh or anything, but still enough to piss me off. I’ve always preferred the dark—quiet, still, calm. Sunlight just feels like an interruption. Rubbing my eyes, I sat up slowly. My hair was a disaster, sticking out in every direction like a damn bird’s nest. Great start to the day.

It was Wednesday. No weekend in sight. Just another boring day filled with work as usual.

Dragging myself out of bed, I stretched and cracked my shoulders. Screw the workout today. I know my routine’s a mess, but honestly, I don’t really care. It’s just 8:09 a.m.—too early for someone like me who stays up all night like a fucking owl. I feel like a zombie most mornings, especially when I have to pretend to be a functioning adult. Well guess this is how life works.

I managed to shower and get ready, letting my wet hair fall loose down my back. I threw on a plain white tee, one sleeve slipping off my shoulder, and a pair of oversized pink jeans. Not the classiest look, but it’s not like I’m walking a red carpet.

I made myself pancakes, tossed some strawberries on the plate, and brewed coffee—my daily drug of choice. Coffee and me? We’re in a toxic relationship, but I’m not giving it up. Sure, I miss my mom’s cooking sometimes. But it’s not like that matters anymore. She refused to stay in Italy with me, and honestly, I don’t blame her. Family is supposed to be comfort and warmth, but mine? They’re chaos dressed up as love. I’m not going back to India. Fuck that. I’d rather be alone than deal with fake affection and family drama. Call me cold-hearted, whatever. I’ve made peace with it.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

It’s been a while since I visited the bookstore. I usually stick to online shopping, but some days you just need to breathe something that isn’t recycled apartment air. Lately, I’ve been diving into classic literature, and I’m not even mad about it. It’s been three months of reading books that make me feel things I didn’t know I could feel. There’s something haunting about classics—the calm before a storm kind of vibe. They pull you back in time, to eras of ink-stained letters and dried rose petals, full of silent grief and quiet beauty. It reminds you about the chaos and suffocation. They make you ache in a way that feels weirdly good.

Yeah, It makes you miserable. I guess I like being miserable. It’s fine.

.·:¨༺ ༻¨:·.

“Welcome, Miss Mika,” Mrs. Bruno greeted me as I walked in. Her warm smile made me nod and smile back. She’s in her early 40s and runs this place like it’s her life’s work. I wonder sometimes if she greets everyone like that or just me because I’m a writer. I hope it’s everyone. That’d be sweet.

“We just got a new shipment of classics—Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Oscar Wilde, and Franz Kafka,” her daughter Gloria chirped in. She’s nineteen, works here part-time, and honestly? She’s been through too much for her age. “Kafka’s getting pretty popular with teens lately,” she added with a shrug.

“You didn’t go to your university today?” I asked, eyeing the stacks of books waiting to be shelved.

“I was going to, but there was so much to organize. Decided to help Mom instead,” she said, her voice dipping low at the end.

I tilted my head. “You really should talk to your directors about the bullying. You don’t deserve that shit.”

“I tried,” she muttered, looking away. “But those kids… they’re rich. Their families basically own the place with donations. And I’m not exactly a top student, so getting into another university would be hard. I’m stuck, Miss Mika.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I hated how she always had to justify skipping class. But could I really blame her? Rich kids get away with everything. The system’s fucked and we both know it.

I gave her a sympathetic glance, then walked over to the shelves. Picked up a copy of White Nights by Dostoevsky, Metamorphosis by Kafka, and No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai. My usual vibe.

“All of these?” Mrs. Bruno said as she took my card for payment. “You’ve got good taste.”

“Thanks,” I murmured, taking the paper bag from her just as my phone started ringing.

Alessia.

Crap.

I stepped outside and slid into my car, phone pressed against my ear. “Hello?”

“Mallika, where the hell are you?” Alessia practically screamed into the phone. I winced. “I’ve been waiting for an hour! You didn’t answer any of my messages!”

“Shit—I’m sorry, I stopped by the bookstore. Didn’t realize… uh, how many copies do I need to sign?” I fumbled, trying to sound casual.

“Copies? Are you high on coffee? Girl, Mr. Moretti is going to be at your office in ONE HOUR! You seriously forgot the meeting?” Her voice was pure panic.

Fuck. And there my heart sank.

“No, no! I didn’t forget,” I lied so badly that it was embarrassing.

“Then get your ass here, fast! I cleaned the office and even brought sweets I thought he might like.” Then she hung up.

I stared at my screen. Fifteen missed messages from Alessia. All starting at 7:00 a.m.

The time now? 9:05 a.m

Mr Moretti is going to be there by 10:00.

.·:¨༺ ༻¨:·.

I ran into my bedroom like a storm and yanked out the navy blue dress I save for serious meetings. Paired it with a white Dior bag, left my hair open but clipped it back slightly with a silver clutch. Light makeup. Somehow got ready in thirty freaking minutes. The clock screamed 9:48 a.m. My office is twenty minutes away. I wanted to cry.

This day could go straight to hell.

.·:¨༺ ༻¨:·.

“Right on time, girly. And damn, you’re looking good,” Alessia grinned, patting my arm. “Mr Moretti is gonna be here in five minutes I think.”

“Don’t jinx it,” I sighed, collapsing into my chair. “Can I get water before I pass out?”

“Here,” she said, handing me a glass. “Just don’t smudge that lipstick.”

I chugged it like my life depended on it, then blotted my lips with a tissue.

“I heard Me Moretti is super strict about his schedule,” Alessia added.

“Why are you fangirling over him so much?” I raised a brow.

“Excuse you, I am NOT fangirling over some rich businessman, even if he’s stupidly hot,” she shot back with a dramatic frown.

I laughed. “Relax, I was kidding.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.”

She was about to say something else, but then the door creaked open.

“Miss Mika? Mr. Raphael Moretti is here.”