A TOXIC LOVE STORY~
"Why did you marry off me to Sirish, Daddy? Why not Harsh? Or any other man?" I ask my father looking at my wedding chain, my eyes burning with hot tears.
He leans forward and cups my cheek, "Aren't you happy with Sirish?" his to...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
“Namrata, take the order from table number 5,” the chief orders me, and I nod, putting the plates in the kitchen sink. Removing the gloves, I wash my hands and dry them. “Seems like it's an Indian.”
I smile at her as I walk past her to table number 5 and place the menu card on the table as I hold the electronic device to note down the orders. “Order, Sir?” I lift my head to look at the person and tears brim in my eyes seeing him. Harsh Ajay Thakur.
“Chikky?” he smiles and looks around. “I have come to talk to you. Bhaiyya didn't allow me to come home the other day, so I am here. Can you take off for a few minutes? I need to speak with you.”
Looking away, I blink my tears which are threatening to escape. “Order, Sir?” I mutter.
“Chikky, please—”
“Order, Sir?”
“Your father will hate this, Chikky. He never allowed you to even lift a glass on your own. Stop—”
“Order, Sir?”
“What happened to you? Leave this—”
“Order, Sir?”
“Chikky—”
“I get paid only if I could do my service, Mr Thakur. I can't risk my job here. I have to run a household. So, I request you not to disturb me,” I mumble blinking my tears.
He sighs. “Okay. I will come back at night,” he gets on his feet and cups my cheeks. “You are always my best friend, bhabhi.”
Kissing my forehead, he walks away. I wipe the tears from the corner of my eyes and go for other customers when suddenly my ankles twist because of my pencil heels, I bump into the waitress who is carrying the wine. I fall to the floor and a glass of wine is all over me drenching my white shirt while the customers to the right have their food and clothes ruined because of the spilled wine. I gasp.
The manager is going to roast me. I am fired.
“What the fuck?!” they shout gaining everyone’s attention,
I hastily get on my feet and try to cover my chest which turned transparent revealing my bra. “I am sorry,” I whisper. “It happened accidentally.”
The manager runs to us and glares at me. “Namrata, leave—”
“We didn't give her permission,” the man in a brown blazer mutters, looking at me.
“Sorry, Sir. She will apologize,” the manager says and turns to me, “Aplozise.”
I nod. “I am sorry again, Sir,” I mumble with tears.
“We don't need your apology,” he smirks.
“She will pay for your food and also pays for your clothes, Sir,” The manager says and my eyes grow wide.
