Aisha

I stood in front of the mirror, clutching the green knee-length dress Dina had picked out for me. Something about it made me hesitate— maybe it was the colour, or perhaps the way it would hug my curves just a bit too snugly.
But tonight wasn't about feeling comfortable; it was about proving a point.

"I can't believe I'm actually doing this," I muttered while slipping into the dress, the cool fabric brushed against my skin.

I smoothed it down, taking a deep breath as my eyes wandered around my bedroom—a small but cosy space I'd made my own since moving out of my parents' house last year. The walls were adorned with photos of friends and family, and the bookshelves were crammed with everything from classic novels to half-finished knitting projects. This was my sanctuary, the place where I could truly be myself.

But tonight, I was stepping out of my comfort zone, all thanks to the silly bet I'd made with that annoying girl next door—that I would definitely find myself a hot boyfriend.
But it was more than just a bet.
My parents were closing in fast with their match-fixing plans.
I had to find my Mr. Right before they could fix me up with a not-so-Mr. Right.

"How do I look?"
I asked, twirling around to show Dina, who was munching on a handful of cookies.

Dina stepped forward immediately chewing thoughtfully on her cookie. She tugged at the sleeves of the dress, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle before patting my shoulder.

"Good. You look approachable."

"Approachable? I want to look irresistible tonight-"

"You look fine as hell."
she interrupted my rant, dusting off some nonexistent lint from my shoulder.
"Trust me, hun, it's your colour."

"It better be."

"Scared?" she asked, her voice filled with concern. She must have noticed my nervous breath or the slight tremor in my voice.

"Not really," I lied, immediately tugging at the hem again.
"I just—what if I make a fool of myself?"

"You won't. And even if you do, who's keeping score? We all make fools of ourselves at one point or another." Dina patted my shoulder like a proud father sending his son off to war.
"Just remember the mission."

I swallowed hard, nodding at her reflection in the mirror.
Right, the mission—
to get myself a date.

It had all seemed like a brilliant idea after the third cup of coffee last week—find a hot guy, before my parents fixed my marriage.
It was a great plan in theory, and made for a fun conversation, but now...
Now, it all felt like a very bad idea.

"We'll hit that party, have some fun, and who knows? You might just meet someone worth your time,"

"Or at least someone who won't make me cringe every time I think about it," I added with a laugh trying to mask my internal turmoil.

"That's the spirit," Dina said, handing me my purse.
"Now, let's go show the world what you're made of."

I forced a smile and took the purse from her.

"Let the mission begin,"
I declared, more to convince myself than anything.

I wasn't sure what the night would bring, but one thing was certain—there was no turning back now.

____

The glossy lips felt like a perfect fit as I sucked the life out of both jelly beans.

I couldn't even tell how I went from single to sucking on a dude's lips, but I'm sure I did some magic-or maybe a fairy fulfilled my wish.

Or... I'm drunk as hell.

Either way, I did manage to kiss a man before turning thirty.
My heartbeat shot up to its limit.
I grabbed his biceps, bulky.
Great!

But wait- I should probably at least peek.

One...

Two...

Three...

I slowly opened my eyes, only to find myself staring at the same plain old wall of my apartment.
A heavy groan escaped my lips as I scanned the room, my eyes darting from one corner to another, searching frantically for any sign of the guy I'd just been smooching.
But there was nothing-just the familiar mess of my shabby one-bedroom apartment, taunting me with its emptiness.

My hungover mind can't even process all of this at once.

First of all, it was a dream? A DREAM?

Second, my head hurts so bad, like someone just plucked my brain out and put it back in the wrong place.

Third, I screwed up real bad.
Instead of socialising, I got drunk as hell.
Dina would be so mad at me right now!

I plopped down on the bed, my heart still not being able to get over the dreamy guy and that sensible kiss.

It was so surreal—our skin touched, and I could feel his hot breath all over my face, his heartbeat syncing with mine, those soft, plump lips smooching the life out of me.

It's probably just yet another dream where I kiss and make out with Naveen—my office crush and senior strategist with looks of a literal model, though with a cute glass.

God! He's such a gentleman too.

If he knew what I've been dreaming about, he'd surely freak out.

I rubbed my eyes to face the blinding rays of the glaring sun. I even forgot to close the curtains.
There were some footsteps, a door closing, and the soft feeling of a bed-those are the only things I can remember.

And also that my mission failed... terribly.

I groaned out loud, grabbing my skull that's about to burst off. There's so much noise in my head.
Is this what tequila does to you?
Or was it vodka? Rum?
What did I even drink?

Heaving a sigh, I reached for my phone, which I always keep right here.. I swung my hand under my pillow— oh shit where's it?

Panic surged through me as I quickly tossed the blanket aside and threw each item from my bed across the room, one by one. Pillows, books, and even my cosy, worn-out stuffed animal went flying across the room.

Where the hell is it?
Did I lose it?

Great, just what I need this morning —another disaster.

Desperately, I searched the small couch, just in case it had fallen there, but still nothing. My heart raced as I spun around, scanning the room, when something caught my eye.

There it was, lying inside the drawer of my bedside table, mocking me with its presence.
Weird... I never keep my phone there; otherwise, I wouldn't hear...my alarm.

Alarm! The alarm!

Shit! I'll be late for work.

My boss will definitely eat me alive-he was already tough on a good day, but being late? He'd eat my brain on a silver platter and won't even burp.
As if he needed an excuse to be any less nice.

Drinking at the end of the weekend was always a terrible idea. Always.

I jumped out of bed, showered at lightning speed, and grabbed a pair of pants and a shirt that looked like it had been through a storm.

A quick glance at the clock made my heart drop, it was inching closer to the time I was supposed to be at work, and I was nowhere near ready.

Ironing? Who has time for that?

I hurriedly reached for the spray bottle I used for watering plants. I hung the shirt up, sprayed water on the worst of the wrinkles, and prayed it would air dry quickly enough.

While blow-drying my hair, I balanced on one leg, trying to slip into my pants and dreaded four-inch heels simultaneously.
I checked on my shirt and viola! The wrinkles are gone as good.
(Desi- Jugaad #101)

Grabbing it I threw it on and raced around the apartment, scooping up my bags. One last look at the chaos I left behind, and I bolted out the door to flag down a taxi.

.
.
.
.

Oh no! Not again!

I tensed, muscles coiled, ready to sprint across the hallway.
My hawk eyes fixed on the elevator, its doors slowly but inevitably closing. With a desperate burst of energy, I launched myself forward.

Almost there!

But the universe had other plans.
The elevator doors slammed shut inches from my nose, and with a spectacular lack of grace, I crashed to the floor, my belongings scattering in all directions.

Are you kidding me? Really?
Could this morning get any worse?

With a frustrated huff, I scrambled to gather my things—my phone, keys, the scattered documents—and pushed myself to my feet.
No time to nurse my bruised ego.

Without another thought, I bolted for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Corporate life sucks.

But do I have any choice?

If I want to prove to my parents-and everyone else—that I can take care of myself, that I'm capable, independent, and not someone who needs to rely on a partner (if I ever get married), then I have to make this career work.
It's my way of showing the world that I'm more than capable of handling life on my own terms.

"Whoa! Slow down!"
A voice suddenly called out that startled me.

I tried to halt my steps, but it was too late, so I twisted myself to avoid the crash, but I might've twisted too hard. My legs wobbled as I struggled to maintain my balance, arms flailing wildly in the air as I desperately searched for something to grab onto. A loud, ear-piercing scream escaped my lips, quickly followed by another one-slightly lower in pitch but no less panicked.

Before I could fully grasp what was happening, my buttcheeks slammed hard onto the soft yet boney ground?!

The impact sent a jolt of pain up my spine, and I winced, blinking rapidly as I tried to make sense of the situation.

"Ow!" A groan echoed from beneath me.

My eyes widened in horror as I scrambled to my feet, the realisation hitting me like a ton of bricks.

No, no, no! This isn't happening. Please let this not be who I think it is.

I had fallen—no, I had literally headbutted—none other than..
Of course, it's Naveen.

It couldn't be anyone else, could it?
My life is a sitcom, and I'm the punchline.
Ugh! How am I supposed to face him after this?

There goes my love life down the drain.

*****

Mission Love Status:

Failed terribly!!

Re Attempting...

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