"I'm sorry, Noel. I had no idea how deeply I hurt you," I said, my head bowed in shame.

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and anger. "Do you remember Twinkle from my German class?"

I nodded, my arms trembling as I crossed them, preparing myself for what he was about to say.

"A year after we broke up," he began, his voice heavy with regret, "I started partying—a lot. One day, I took her along with me to a party, and we got drunk, really bad. I thought she could pull herself up, but she didn't, so we crashed at Nithin's apartment, and we...we messed around. It wasn't like anything we did before, but it still felt good. It was wild," he confessed, running a hand through his hair.

I couldn't fathom where he was going with this. Was he trying to make me feel sorry or jealous? He wasn't succeeding at either.

"I got a taste of something new. It was my hatred. I was only thinking of all the ways to hurt you when I was with her," he admitted, a cruel edge to his words.

My anger flared. "You take pleasure in hurting me?"

He leaned in closer, his eyes locked onto mine. "In more ways than you can imagine."

"You're twisted. I feel sorry for that poor girl you're marrying."

He smirked, his expression cunning. "Oh, she's not poor."

His insinuation made my blood run cold. I wanted to do more than just slap him; I wanted to make him pay for his cruelty. I wouldn't stand by and let him ruin another girl's life.

"You can't do this. It's not right," I protested.

He pointed his finger at me, his voice sharp. "Don't you dare tell me what's right or wrong."

His words cut deep, but I refused to back down. "I'm sorry," I began, my voice shaking as tears welled up in my eyes. "I turned you into a monster."

"No," he said, surprising me with his agreement. "I have to thank you for it. I like this new me. It's so refreshing and free," he proclaimed, puffing out his chest.

I couldn't sympathize with what he had become. He was annoyingly proud and confident about his cruelty. He seemed to have channeled his anger in the wrong direction, and I had inadvertently helped him do it.

"You have to blame me for it, Noel. I did this to you."

"Yes, you did," he admitted coldly.

"Will you ever forgive me?" I asked, desperation creeping into my voice.

"I don't think so," he replied, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "You did what you had to do, didn't you? Now you can't beg for forgiveness."

I knew his game. He wanted me to beg. He wanted to see how far I'd go for his forgiveness, and it gave him a sick sense of satisfaction. This wasn't new to me; he used to do this every time we fought. He craved that nagging drama, which was also his weakness. I didn't know if my tearful plea would work now, but I had to try.

"Noel, I'm truly sorry. I know I hurt you, and I was hurt too. What's done is done, and there's nothing we can do to change it. But I feel guilty for leaving you like this. I can see your pain. Let me help you."

"Help? How can you help me now?" he groaned.

"Tell me," I said, locking eyes with him. "Tell me what I can do to make you forgive me. We can at least be friends again."

"Do you know what's worse than being exes?" he asked, a bitter tone in his voice. "Being friends after."

"Can we at least move on? Act like mature adults?" I challenged, hitting his ego. Who likes to admit they're immature?

"We'll see," he replied, turning away and closing his eyes.

He had always been difficult to deal with. I had known him for only a few years, but it felt like nobody else in his life could understand him better than I did— not his parents, not his friends, not even this Swetha. His secrets were safe with me, and maybe that's what scared him the most—his vulnerability and his deepest secrets. I might never fully comprehend his actions, but I understood where he was coming from and the darkness within him.

I reclined in my seat and pretended to sleep for the rest of the journey, barely exchanging a word. Awkward silences filled the space between us, punctuated only by the crew's offers of food and pleasantries. We dared not look at each other again.

As the flight neared its destination, we still had nothing to say to each other. He didn't show any resentment, but his behavior felt suspicious. If he were the same man I once knew, he would have said something. I waited until we cordially disembarked from the plane and collected our baggage. For a few moments, I lost sight of him, but I soon spotted him walking away. It was my chance to confront him, to get his attention again, and maybe even obtain his number.

I quickened my pace and lightly tapped his shoulder. He turned to face me, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

"I just wanted to say goodbye," I stammered.

"Hmm. Goodbye, then," he replied, unruffled, before turning and walking away without a backward glance. What had I expected? Tears and a tight hug?

Deflated, I turned away and hastily called the cab my company had arranged to pick me up. We quickly rendezvoused outside the gate and embarked on the journey into the bustling city. I settled into the back seat, gazing out the window at the passing scenery, reflecting on every moment of our journey.

When I checked Google Maps, I realized the drive from Gatwick to Hackney would take over an hour due to heavy traffic. I had no reason to rush, but I hoped to get some rest before meeting the Director at the headquarters.

I watched as the morning sun cast its golden glow on the towering trees along the highway, their leaves a mosaic of amber and scarlet. We were nearly halfway there when I caught my first glimpse of the city's tall buildings. As we passed through a bright tunnel, lit from above with dazzling white lights, the urban landscape emerged before us. The famous double-decker buses and black cabs buzzed around, adding to the city's vibrant energy. Although this was only my second visit to London, it still felt like an undiscovered adventure.

The buildings grew taller as we ventured deeper into the city, eventually arriving at The Mondrian, the hotel where I would be staying. This imposing structure spanned two perpendicular streets, boasting a striking black revolving door at the corner. As I stepped out of the car, a bellman approached to help unload my luggage, following me inside.

After checking in at the reception, I made my way to my room. My bags had already been delivered and neatly arranged on one side. The room featured a queen-size bed as its centerpiece, bathed in sunlight streaming through the large windows. I locked the door behind me, drew the pecan-colored curtains shut, and collapsed onto the bed, desperate for rest.

I had a couple of hours before my meeting with Harley Weatherbee, and my body ached from the long journey. But my mind refused to rest, haunted by memories of Noel touching me. This time, the memories left me feeling disgusted and ashamed. I wanted to cleanse myself, to rid my body of his lingering presence, so I stepped into the shower.

The hot water couldn't wash away my regrets, but it provided some solace. I knew I had to act, to seek revenge for what he had done to me, and I needed to do it soon. I couldn't wait for karma to take its course; I had to take matters into my own hands. After all, we were living in the era of instant karma.

As noon approached, I dressed in a white blouse and matching grey plaid pants and blazer. I headed to the office, where a company-provided mini-cab was waiting to whisk me away. The drive to the office was short, and as soon as I arrived, I was greeted by Pavan Khare, my UK counterpart. Pavan had moved to London four years ago when I had taken over his position in India. He had been both a mentor and a friend, and I was excited to reunite with him after many months.

"How's India?" he asked.

"Thriving," I replied, rolling my eyes. I had contemplated moving abroad, possibly to London, if my company offered me the opportunity. However, my eagerness had waned over time. I yearned to distance myself from my parents, who still demanded my presence every month, resulting in inevitable arguments. While my younger sister often watched the spectacle unfold, I found myself playing mediator. Yet, my efforts were rarely appreciated.

"Did you bring something for me?" Pavan asked, a wide smile lighting up his face.

Pavan had a penchant for Indian sweets, especially Jalebi and Besan ka laddu. I had forgotten to bring them on my last trip, but he had made sure to remind me this time, sending gentle reminders days in advance. As I retrieved the box from my bag, Pavan's joy mirrored that of a child receiving a long-awaited gift.

We strolled through the office, catching up on developments in the India office and discussing the week's agenda. Pavan and I were tasked with presenting new ideas to a potential client in two days, and we were ready to make our pitch at a moment's notice. We made a great team, and I always enjoyed working alongside him.

Later, Pavan and I joined a few colleagues for lunch—Tim and Claire from Sales, Ben from Operations, and two others from corporate relations whose names escaped me. They were a jovial bunch, but one person in particular stood out—Alex, who had been working from Tesco's office for the past three months. Despite his demanding schedule, Alex never missed a single brunch with our group.

After a busy day at the office, the only thing on my mind was the comfortable bed waiting for me in my room. I changed into more comfortable clothing, cleaned up, and settled onto the bed. Exhaustion weighed heavily on me, and I longed for a restful night's sleep.

Or so I thought.

In the middle of the night, I awoke drenched in sweat, my heart pounding with anxiety.

Do you feel like hitting that guy on his face? 

I do. :p