Gauri took another swig from the bottle, the amber liquid glinting under the dim living-room light, then passed it straight to Zoey without even asking.
Zoey accepted it like it was a sacred torch, tilted her head back dramatically, and took a long, theatrical gulp. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and let out a satisfied "Ahhh" that echoed off the walls.
"See? That's how you celebrate being falsely accused of fun crimes," Zoey said, grinning at Amitesh. She held the bottle out toward him, dangling it like bait. "Your turn, Mr. Innocent. One sip. For the team."
Amitesh leaned back on the couch, arms crossed, small smile playing on his lips but eyes calm. "Nah. I'm good."
Gauri snorted so hard she almost choked on her next breath. "You're good? Bro, we just got raided by the Whisky Enforcement Agency and you're sitting there like you're waiting for your tax refund. Live a little!"
Zoey joined in, leaning forward with mock-seriousness. "Come on, Amitesh.
Don't make us do the peer-pressure dance. We're literally holding contraband. You're gonna let two hardened criminals drink alone? That's cold. That's colder than the ice in this bottle if we put it in the freezer."
Amitesh raised an eyebrow. "You two are literally the most dramatic sober people I've ever seen when you're drunk. I'm just preserving my dignity."
"Dignity?" Gauri cackled, flopping sideways onto the couch so her head landed in Zoey's lap. "You lost that the day you let us into your life. Now drink, or we start singing."
Zoey immediately perked up. "Oh yes. We do the off-key Happy Birthday but replace it with 'Amitesh is a lightweight' on repeat until you cave."
Amitesh didn't flinch. He just looked between them, utterly unfazed. "Go ahead. I've survived worse karaoke threats."
Gauri sat up suddenly, eyes narrowing like she'd just cracked the code. "Wait. Is this a moral stand? Are you doing the whole 'I'm above peer pressure' thing? Because that's adorable. And also annoying."
Zoey nodded sagely, passing the bottle back to Gauri. "He's pulling the silent monk routine. Classic Amitesh move.
He'll sit there all zen while we get progressively louder and stupider."
"Exactly," Gauri said, pointing the bottle neck at him like a microphone. "And then tomorrow you'll be the only one who remembers the embarrassing stories. You'll have blackmail material for years. Is that the plan? You sneaky bastard."
Amitesh finally cracked a real laugh—quiet, but genuine. "Maybe."
Zoey gasped theatrically and clutched her chest. "He admits it! He's playing 5D chess while we're out here playing drunk Jenga with our dignity!"
Gauri took another pull from the bottle, then leaned in close to Amitesh, voice dropping to a fake-conspiratorial whisper. "Okay, fine. No drinking. But you're not escaping punishment. New rule: every time one of us takes a shot, you have to do something stupid.
Deal?"
Zoey clapped once. "Yes! Brilliant. First round: Amitesh does the worm. Right now. On the carpet."
Amitesh looked down at the slightly stained living-room rug, then back at them. "Absolutely not."
Gauri grinned wider. "Then drink."
He sighed, long-suffering but clearly amused. "You two are impossible."
Zoey raised the bottle like a toast. "To impossible friends," she declared.
Gauri clinked the bottle against an imaginary glass in Amitesh's hand. "And to the only sober one dumb enough to still hang out with us."
They both drank again, eyes locked on him, waiting for the inevitable moment he'd crack.
But Amitesh just settled deeper into the couch, arms behind his head, completely relaxed.
"Keep waiting," he said softly. "I've got all night."
The girls exchanged a look—half challenge, half affection—and the night stretched ahead, loud and ridiculous and warm, exactly the way they liked it.
Gauri took another swig, then passed the bottle to Zoey with an exaggerated bow, like she was handing over a royal scepter.
Zoey accepted it with both hands, did a little shoulder shimmy of celebration, and knocked back a generous gulp. She smacked her lips loudly and pointed the bottle neck straight at Amitesh like a laser pointer.
"Your Majesty the Sober King refuses his royal beverage again," she announced in her most dramatic narrator voice. "The peasants are disappointed. The peasants are judging."
Amitesh just raised one eyebrow, perfectly still on the couch. "Peasants? Really?"
Gauri gasped, clutching Zoey's arm like she'd been personally attacked. "Did you hear that tone? He's too cool for our peasant whiskey. Look at him—arms crossed, chin up, probably mentally writing his Nobel Prize acceptance speech for 'Most Responsible Adult in the Room.'"
Zoey leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Amitesh, blink twice if you're secretly a robot programmed by our moms to keep us from having fun. Blink. Twice."
He didn't blink. Just gave the tiniest smirk.
Gauri clutched her chest. "He didn't blink! It's confirmed. We're being babysat by a very handsome android."
Zoey nodded solemnly. "The evidence is overwhelming. Android Amitesh refuses alcohol because… fuel inefficiency. Or maybe ethanol corrodes his superior moral circuits."
"Exactly!" Gauri snapped her fingers.
"That's why he's so shiny and perfect all the time. No hangover, no bad decisions, just pure, judgmental glow."
Amitesh finally let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "You two are ridiculous."
"Ridiculous and adorable," Zoey corrected, batting her lashes at him. "Admit it—you love being the only adult in the room. It gives your ego a nice little massage."
Gauri slid off the couch onto the floor in front of him, propping her chin in her hands like a kid asking for a story.
"Come onnnn, just one tiny sip. For science. We need to see if your halo flickers when whiskey touches your lips."
"Or if you spontaneously combust from fun," Zoey added helpfully. "We'll film it. For science."
Amitesh leaned forward just enough to look her in the eye, voice low and teasing right back. "If I combust, who's gonna carry both of you home when you inevitably start trying to 'taste the rainbow' with random food combinations at 3 a.m.?"
Zoey and Gauri both froze for half a second—then burst out laughing so hard Zoey almost dropped the bottle.
"See!" Gauri wheezed, pointing at him.
"He's threatening us with future dad energy now. That's next-level savage."
Zoey wiped a tear from her eye. "Okay, fine. No drinking. But the punishment stands. Every time we take a shot, you do something stupid. And no backing out this time, Mr. Robot."
Gauri raised the bottle like a microphone. "Round two! Amitesh must… do the sprinkler dance. Right here. Right now. With sound effects."
Zoey immediately started making pathetic little "psshhh-psshhh" sprinkler noises while waving her arms.
Amitesh looked from one to the other, completely deadpan. "You're both deranged."
"Deranged and obsessed with you," Zoey said sweetly, tilting her head. "So either dance… or drink. Your call, golden boy."
He sighed the longest, most theatrical sigh in history, then very slowly uncrossed his arms.
"Fine," he said. "But only because watching you two try to bully me is starting to feel like performance art."
Gauri squealed and clapped like she'd won the lottery.
Zoey passed him an imaginary trophy.
"Ladies and gentlemen… the unbreakable Amitesh has cracked. Slightly. We take what we can get."
And just like that, the teasing looped right back into laughter—louder, warmer, and somehow even more ridiculous than before.
Gauri shifted closer on the floor, still propped on her elbows, her chin in her hands, but now her gaze had slid sideways to Zoey instead of staying locked on Amitesh. The bottle rested loosely between her fingers like she'd forgotten it was there.
Zoey caught the look immediately—because of course she did—and tilted her head, one eyebrow quirking up in that way that always made Gauri's stomach do a stupid little flip.
"What?" Zoey asked, voice all innocent sugar. "You staring at me like I stole your last french fry?"
Gauri's lips curved slow and deliberate.
"Nah. Just thinking you look unfairly cute when you're trying to bully Amitesh into drinking. The little nose scrunch? Criminal."
Zoey laughed, but there was a tiny flush creeping up her neck. "Flattery won't get you out of doing the sprinkler dance too, you know."
"Who said anything about getting out of anything?" Gauri murmured. She reached over casually—like it was no big deal—and tucked a loose strand of Zoey's hair behind her ear, letting her fingertips linger just a second too long against the shell of it. "I'm just saying… if we're handing out punishments tonight, you deserve one for being this distracting."
Zoey's eyes widened for half a heartbeat before she recovered, leaning in just enough that their knees bumped.
"Distracting, huh? That's rich coming from the girl who kicked the door in like she was auditioning for an action flick."
Gauri grinned, shameless. "Worked, didn't it? Got your full attention." She dropped her voice lower, teasing, intimate. "And now I'm keeping it."
Zoey bit her lip to stop the smile from spreading too wide, but it didn't work.
"You're dangerous when you're tipsy, you know that?"
"Only around you," Gauri shot back without missing a beat. She lifted the bottle between them like a peace offering, then took a slow sip while holding eye contact. When she lowered it, she licked a stray drop from her bottom lip—deliberately slow. "Your turn to be punished, pretty girl. What's it gonna be? Sing something embarrassing? Or…" She leaned in closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "…let me steal a kiss as collateral?"
Zoey's laugh came out breathy, surprised. "You're bold tonight."
"I'm always bold," Gauri corrected, nudging Zoey's shoulder with her own. "You just pretend not to notice until I make it impossible to ignore."
Amitesh, still lounging on the couch like he was watching premium entertainment, finally spoke up—dry as ever. "Should I leave you two alone, or is this part of my punishment now?"
Zoey turned to him, cheeks pink but eyes sparkling. "You stay right there, audience member. You're morally obligated to witness this."
Gauri didn't even glance away from Zoey. "Yeah, stay. You can learn how flirting is supposed to work, Mr. Untouchable."
Zoey reached out and lightly flicked Gauri's nose. "You're terrible."
"You love it," Gauri replied instantly, catching Zoey's hand before she could pull it back. She pressed a quick, exaggerated kiss to Zoey's knuckles—like a Victorian gentleman—then winked. "Admit it."
Zoey rolled her eyes, but she didn't take her hand away. "Maybe. A little."
Gauri's grin turned downright wicked. "That's all I needed to hear."
She finally passed the bottle back to Zoey, their fingers brushing longer than necessary, and the air between them felt charged, playful, warm—like the teasing had tipped sideways into something softer without either of them quite admitting it.
Amitesh sighed dramatically from the couch. "Great. Now I'm third-wheeling in house."
Zoey laughed and tossed a cushion at him. "Get used to it, sober king. The night's just getting started."
Gauri leaned her head against Zoey's shoulder, still smirking. "And I'm nowhere near done with you yet."
Zoey didn't push her away.
She just smiled—small, secret, happy—and took another sip from the bottle.
Amitesh watched the whole exchange from the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other hand absently tracing the seam of a cushion.
He'd been quiet—content to let the girls spiral into their little bubble of giggles and glances—but now his eyes flicked between them, and something shifted in his expression. Not annoyance. Not retreat. Just… quiet amusement sharpening into something playful.
He sat up slowly, deliberately, like a cat deciding it was time to join the game.
"You know," he said, voice low and smooth in a way that made both heads snap toward him, "if we're handing out punishments for being distracting tonight, I think I've got a case to make."
Zoey blinked. "Excuse me?"
Gauri's grin faltered for half a second before blooming wider. "Oh? Mr. Untouchable has opinions now?"
Amitesh leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gaze sliding first to Zoey, then to Gauri, then back again—slow, unhurried, like he was savoring the moment.
"Zoey," he started, tilting his head just enough to catch the light in his eyes, "you keep biting your lip like that every time Gauri gets flirty. It's distracting as hell. And Gauri—" He turned to her fully now, letting his voice drop a fraction. "—you tuck her hair behind her ear like you've practiced it in the mirror. That's weaponized cuteness. I'm sitting here trying to stay composed, and you're both making it impossible."
Zoey's mouth fell open in delighted shock. "You did not just—"
"I did," he cut in, calm as ever. "And I'm not done."
He stood up—slow, unfolding himself from the couch with easy confidence—and stepped closer until he was right between them on the floor. Not crowding, just… present. Close enough that Gauri had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes, and Zoey instinctively shifted to make room.
"See, the problem," Amitesh continued, crouching down so he was eye-level with them both, "is that you two think I'm just the sober audience. But I've been paying attention. All night."
He reached out—casual, gentle—and brushed the same loose strand of hair that Gauri had tucked earlier, but this time he let his fingers trail lightly down the side of Zoey's neck before pulling back.
Zoey sucked in a tiny breath. Gauri's eyes went wide, then narrowed in thrilled challenge.
"And you, Gauri," he said, turning to her with the same slow smile, "you keep looking at me like you're daring me to crack. Newsflash: I'm not cracking. I'm just choosing when to play."
He leaned in toward Gauri just enough that she could feel the warmth of him, voice dropping to a murmur meant for both of them.
"So if we're playing flirty punishment games…" He paused, letting the silence stretch deliciously. "…maybe the real penalty is that I get to flirt back. And I don't half-ass it."
Gauri recovered first—because of course she did. She laughed, bright and a little breathless, then reached up and lightly tugged the front of his shirt.
"Finally," she said, eyes sparkling. "Took you long enough to join the party, golden boy."
Zoey, cheeks flushed but grinning like she'd won something, nudged Gauri's shoulder. "He's got game. I'm impressed. Terrified, but impressed."
Amitesh just shrugged one shoulder, still crouched between them, completely at ease. "I've had good teachers." His gaze flicked between them again—warm, teasing, unmistakable. "Now, are we keeping score, or are we just seeing who blushes first?"
Gauri leaned in toward Zoey conspiratorially, but loud enough for him to hear. "He thinks he can out-flirt us. Cute."
Zoey nodded, then looked straight at Amitesh. "Challenge accepted."
Amitesh's smile turned slow and dangerous. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."
The bottle sat forgotten on the floor between them now. The night had tilted—three players instead of two—and the air buzzed with laughter, heat, and the kind of playful tension that promised no one was backing down anytime soon.
The room felt smaller now, the air thicker, like someone had turned up the heat without touching the thermostat.
The bottle sat abandoned on the carpet between them—three people crouched in a loose triangle, knees almost brushing, no one quite willing to break the circle first.
Amitesh stayed crouched, elbows resting on his thighs, close enough that Gauri could smell the faint clean scent of his shirt and Zoey could see the slow rise and fall of his chest. He didn't rush.
He never did. But tonight that stillness felt deliberate, like a held breath.
Gauri broke first—because she always broke first when the tension got this good. She reached out, slow-motion, and hooked one finger into the neckline of Amitesh's shirt, tugging him forward just an inch. Not enough to unbalance him. Just enough to make him lean in.
"You talk a big game, sober king," she murmured, voice husky from whisky and laughter and something else entirely. "But can you back it up?"
Amitesh didn't pull away. Instead he lifted his hand—slow, careful—and caught her wrist. Not tight. Just firm enough that she felt his pulse against her skin. He held her there, thumb brushing once, lazily, over the inside of her wrist.
"I don't bluff," he said quietly. His eyes flicked to Zoey, who was watching them both like she couldn't decide whether to laugh or combust. "But I also don't rush. You two have been winding me up all night. Maybe I want to see how high the tension can climb before one of you begs."
Zoey let out a soft, incredulous laugh. "Beg? You wish."
But her voice cracked just a little, and she didn't move when Amitesh reached across with his free hand and traced the line of her jaw with the backs of his knuckles—light as a whisper, but it left a trail of heat.
"You're flushed," he told her, almost gently. "Right here." His fingertip ghosted over the apple of her cheek. "And your breathing's all uneven. You sure you're not the one begging already?"
Zoey swallowed. Hard. Then she turned her face into his touch, just enough to press her lips to the pad of his thumb—a quick, daring brush—before pulling back with a defiant little smile.
"Maybe I'm just warming up," she said.
Gauri watched the exchange like it was the best show she'd ever seen. Then she leaned in toward Zoey, close enough that their noses almost touched.
"You're both so pretty when you're trying to act cool," she whispered. Her lips brushed Zoey's earlobe as she spoke. "Makes me want to ruin you a little."
Zoey shivered visibly. "You're evil."
"Only for you two." Gauri's hand slid from Amitesh's shirt to Zoey's thigh—light, resting there, thumb drawing a slow, absent circle against the denim.
"And maybe a little for him. He's finally playing."
Amitesh's grip on Gauri's wrist tightened—just a fraction. He leaned in until his mouth was a breath away from Gauri's, voice low enough that only they could hear the next words.
"If I kiss you right now," he said, eyes locked on hers, "you're both going to lose whatever game you think you're winning."
Gauri's pupils blew wide. She licked her bottom lip, slow. "Promise?"
Zoey made a tiny, involuntary sound—half laugh, half something needier—and pressed her forehead to Gauri's shoulder like she needed an anchor.
"Don't tease," Zoey muttered against Gauri's neck. "Not unless you're going to follow through."
Amitesh's gaze dropped to Zoey's mouth, then back up. "Who said I'm teasing?"
He didn't move for a long beat—letting the question hang, letting the heat coil tighter, letting them both feel exactly how close they were to the edge.
Then, very slowly, he released Gauri's wrist… only to slide his hand up to cup the back of her neck instead. The same hand that had just touched Zoey's jaw now threaded gently into Gauri's hair, tilting her head just enough.
His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth.
"Last chance," he said softly, to both of them. "Tell me to stop. Or don't."
Neither of them spoke.
The silence stretched—electric, unbearable, perfect.
Gauri's fingers tightened on Zoey's thigh.
Zoey's hand found Amitesh's knee, steadying herself.
Amitesh leaned back against the couch, the playful spark in his eyes dimming just a fraction. He pulled in a long, slow exhale through his nose, as though he were deliberately emptying the room of whatever charged air had been building between the three of them.
"Okay," he said quietly, voice steady now. "I think that's enough flirting for today."
Gauri blinked, caught mid-giggle. "Huh? But we just got started… and you joined in too!"
"Plans change, dear." Amitesh gave her a small, almost apologetic tilt of his head. "You're drunk. Go to sleep. Reflect in the morning when your head isn't swimming."
Gauri let out an exaggerated groan. "Ahh, you are the worst."
Without another word she dramatically flopped sideways, collapsing across Zoey's lap like a cat claiming its favourite sunbeam. Her cheek pressed against Zoey's thigh.
"I'm sleeping now," she announced to the room.
Within thirty seconds her breathing deepened into soft, theatrical snores.
Zoey looked down at the sprawled girl, then back up at Amitesh. A tiny, amused smile tugged at her mouth.
"Okay," she said simply.
Amitesh rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around the suddenly quieter living room. Empty glasses, a half-eaten bowl of chips, cushions knocked askew.
"Get back on the couch," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "My my… I wasn't even drunk and I still did all sorts of things tonight."
Zoey's smile grew a little wider. She gently brushed a strand of Gauri's hair off her face before meeting his gaze again.
"You really caught me off guard, you know."
Amitesh lifted one shoulder. "It's you two's fault. I'm a boy, after all."
Zoey let out a soft hehe. "But yeah… thanks. This girl—" she nodded down at the snoring heap in her lap "—when she gets drunk she turns into an almost completely different creature. A flirting lesbian creature."
Amitesh raised an eyebrow, teasing. "Maybe she really is lesbian and the alcohol just peels back the polite layer."
Zoey's eyes narrowed playfully. "Hey. Are you actually her friend?"
"Just joking." He waved a lazy hand. "But yeah… you probably shouldn't call her lesbian. What if it becomes true?"
Zoey arched a brow higher. "And how exactly would that happen?"
Amitesh leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, voice dropping into the conspiratorial tone people use when sharing childhood superstitions.
"Well… you know the old saying. One time every day, God comes and sits right on your tongue. And whatever you say at that exact moment becomes true. That's why our grandparents always told us to speak only good things."
Zoey nodded slowly. "Yeah, I've heard it."
"But there's a catch," he continued, a glint returning to his eye.
"Huh. And what's that?"
"Anything you say at that moment becomes true. So obviously you should always talk good things. But—" he paused for effect "—always talk bad about your enemies too. If God really is sitting there, your enemy suffers. If not… who cares?"
Zoey's eyes widened for a second. Then she leaned in, voice dropping to match his.
"Hey, Amitesh," she murmured. "You remember I called you a monk earlier?"
"Yes."
"Well… I'm taking my words back." She held his gaze without blinking. "A hypocrite like you—who even uses God to wish evil on people—can never be a monk."
Amitesh's lips curved. Not a full smile.Just a slow, knowing smirk that said he'd been waiting for exactly that comeback.
"Who said I want to be a monk?"
For a heartbeat the room held only Gauri's gentle snores and the faint hum of the ceiling fan.
Zoey studied him—really studied him—then gave the smallest shake of her head, half amused, half impressed.
"You're dangerous when you're sober,"she said quietly.
Amitesh only shrugged again, but the smirk didn't leave his face.
"Maybe," he replied. "Or maybe I'm just honest when everyone else is pretending."
He glanced down at Gauri, still blissfully passed out across Zoey's lap, then back up at Zoey.
"Either way," he added, voice softer now, "tonight was fun. Even if I have to be the responsible one who says goodnight."
Zoey's fingers idly traced a small circle on Gauri's shoulder. She didn't look away from him.
"Yeah," she said after a moment. "It was."
Zoey lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head while gently adjusting Gauri's head on her lap so she doesn't slide off.
Zoey: (quietly, teasing)
So… no monk aspirations. Noted.
Then what do you want to be, Amitesh? Official chaos coordinator? Professional drunk-sitter?
Amitesh: leaning back, arms crossed, small grin
"I'm flexible.Right now I'm just trying to survive you two without ending up in a viral video titled "Man Ruins Girls' Night".
Zoey: (smirking)
Too late. Gauri already has blackmail material for life.
Amitesh:
She won't remember half of it tomorrow.
Zoey:
That's what makes it perfect blackmail.
Gauri suddenly mumbles in her sleep, still half-draped across Zoey's lap
Gauri: (slurred, dreamy)
…Amitesh… pretty eyes… don't go…
Both Zoey and Amitesh freeze for a second.
Zoey: (whispering, eyes wide)
She's talking about you in her sleep now?
Amitesh: (rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly awkward)
She's drunk. Drunk people say the dumbest shit.
Zoey: (grinning wickedly)
Mhm. Sure. "Pretty eyes". Very dumb.
Amitesh: (dryly)
You're enjoying this way too much.
Zoey:-Immensely.
She strokes Gauri's hair absentmindedly while looking at Amitesh with that same half-challenging, half-amused expression.
Zoey:
You know… for someone who claims he's "just a boy after all", you're handling two drunk girls surprisingly well.
Amitesh:
Years of practice dealing with idiots. Including myself.
Zoey laughed softly "Fair"
A beat of comfortable silence. Gauri snores louder. The room feels strangely cozy despite the earlier flirting storm.
Zoey: (softer now)
Hey… thanks. Seriously. For staying. For not being weird about… everything.
Amitesh: (shrugs, looking away)
Don't get soft on me now. I'll start thinking you like me or something.
Zoey: (rolling her eyes, but smiling)
Don't push your luck, pretty eyes.
Amitesh snorts, but there's the tiniest flush on his ears.
Amitesh:
Go to sleep, Zoey. Before you start saying things you'll regret in the morning too.
Zoey: (quietly, almost to herself)
Maybe I won't regret them.
She doesn't look at him when she says it.
Amitesh glances over, something unreadable flickering across his face.
He doesn't reply.
Just pulls the blanket up over Gauri a little higher, then leans back against the couch again.
The room quiets down to just Gauri's soft snoring and the faint hum of the city outside.
---
The next morning hits like a truck.
Sunlight slices through the half-open curtains like it personally hates everyone in the room.
Gauri is the first casualty.
She groans—long, dramatic, dying-animal noise—face buried in the couch cushion. One arm is flung over her eyes like she's trying to physically block the day from existing.
Gauri: (muffled, raspy)
Whoever is responsible for the sun… I'm pressing charges.
Zoey is sprawled on the floor now (somehow she slid off the couch in the night), one leg still tangled in the blanket, hair looking like she lost a fight with a leaf blower. She doesn't even open her eyes yet—just speaks in the general direction of the ceiling.
Zoey: (hoarse)
I think my tongue died and my head is hosting its funeral.
Amitesh, somehow, is already sitting up on the single chair across the room. He looks mostly alive—hair a little messy, shirt wrinkled, but eyes open and annoyingly clear. He's sipping water from a glass like he's on some kind of spiritual wellness retreat while the other two are clearly in the trenches of World War Hangover.
Amitesh: (calm, almost cheerful)
Good morning, princesses. How's the aftermath treating you?
Gauri: (still face-down)
Die.
Zoey: (finally cracking one eye open, glaring at him)
You… you monster. How are you not dead right now?
Amitesh: (shrugs)
I didn't drink half a bar. Also I drank approximately seventeen liters of water before passing out. Basic survival.
Gauri slowly peels her face off the cushion. Mascara is smudged under her eyes like war paint. She squints at Amitesh like he's a personal insult.
Gauri:
You were flirting with us.
Both of us.
At the same time.
And now you're sitting there all… hydrated and smug.
Amitesh: (small smirk)
You threw yourself on Zoey's lap and called me pretty eyes in your sleep.
We're even.
Gauri freezes.
Very slowly turns to Zoey.
Gauri: (tiny, horrified voice)
I did what?
Zoey: (grinning despite the pain)
Oh yeah. "Pretty eyes… don't go…"
It was adorable. And deeply embarrassing.
Gauri lets out a full-body wail and shoves her face back into the cushion.
Gauri:
I'm moving countries. New name. New life. Goodbye.
Amitesh: (standing up, stretching)
Before you flee the nation, maybe drink some water. And maybe eat something that isn't regret.
He walks to the kitchen area, comes back with two more glasses of water and a packet of electrolytes he apparently found in a drawer.
Zoey accepts hers like it's holy water.
Zoey:
You're suspiciously prepared for this.
Amitesh:
I've survived both of you before. I came prepared this time.
Gauri finally sits up—slowly, like every movement costs HP. She takes the glass he hands her but doesn't drink yet. Just stares at him with bloodshot eyes.
Gauri:
You're not allowed to be this functional. It's unnatural.
Amitesh: (sits back down, smirking again)
Says the girl who tried to make out with both of us last night.
Gauri & Zoey: (at the same time)
Shut up!
He laughs—quiet, real, not mean. Just amused.
Amitesh:
Okay okay. Truce.
I'll make coffee. Or tea. Or whatever will stop you two from murdering me.
Zoey: (softening a little)
Coffee. Strong. Black. Like my soul right now.
Gauri: (muttering)
And paracetamol. And a time machine.
Amitesh gets up again, heads to the kitchen.
Just before he disappears around the corner, he turns back.
Amitesh: (light, almost gentle)
For what it's worth…
Last night was fun.
Even the chaotic parts.
Gauri and Zoey exchange a look—still wrecked, still embarrassed, but something warm flickers between them too.
Zoey: (quiet)
Yeah.
It was.
Gauri: (after a long pause, very small)
Don't tell anyone I said this… but you're not the worst.
Amitesh just smiles—small, real—and disappears to make coffee.
The room smells like stale beer, perfume, and second chances.
Hangover morning: officially in progress.
The kitchen light flickers on, weak and yellow, like it's also hungover.
Amitesh comes back balancing three mismatched mugs of black coffee on a tray that looks like it was stolen from a 90s hotel. Steam curls up lazily. He sets it down on the low table between the couch and the floor.
Amitesh: (matter-of-fact)
Coffee. No sugar, no milk, no mercy.
Drink it slow or you'll puke.
He hands one mug to Zoey, who takes it like it's a lifeline, cradling it against her chest.
Then one to Gauri. She stares at it like it personally betrayed her last night.
Gauri: (whispering)
This smells like regret.
Amitesh:
That's the magic ingredient.
He doesn't sit yet. Instead he grabs the almost-empty water jug from the table, pours himself a full glass, downs it in four long gulps without breathing, then immediately pours another.
And another.
Zoey and Gauri watch in slow-motion horror as he chugs the third glass like it's nothing—throat working, Adam's apple bobbing, not a single pause.
Silence. Just the sound of him swallowing and the faint glug-glug of the jug being refilled again.
Zoey: (eyes wide, mug frozen halfway to her lips)
…What the actual hell.
Gauri: (voice cracking)
Are you… human?
Amitesh finally wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, sets the empty glass down with a soft clink, and looks at them both like they're the weird ones.
Amitesh: (calm)
What? I told you. Seventeen liters yesterday. Maintenance mode activated.
Zoey: (still staring)
You just drank three full glasses like it was a TikTok challenge. In front of our corpses.
I can hear my kidneys crying in jealousy.
Gauri: (pointing weakly at him)
That's not normal. That's… that's villain origin story behavior.
Next you'll tell us you don't even need to pee.
Amitesh: (small shrug, tiny smirk)
I do. Frequently.
But I hydrate like it's my job because last time I didn't, I woke up feeling like someone used my skull as a pinata.
He finally drops back into the chair, picks up his own coffee mug (the only one with a tiny bit of milk because apparently even he has limits), and takes a slow sip.
Zoey: (still in disbelief)
You're sitting there all smug and hydrated while we look like we got hit by a truck full of tequila.
Gauri: (muttering into her mug)
I hate him.
I hate him so much.
And yet… the coffee is perfect.
Amitesh: (quiet laugh)
You're welcome.
Zoey takes her first real sip, winces at the bitterness, then sighs like her soul just came back online a little.
Zoey:
Okay fine. You win this round.
But only because I physically cannot fight you right now.
Gauri: (after a long sip, eyes half-closed)
If you keep being this annoyingly competent… I might have to marry you out of spite.
Amitesh: (deadpan)
I'll need a bigger apartment first.
They all sit there for a minute—coffee steam rising, sunlight getting brighter, headaches still pounding but slightly less murderous.
Gauri leans her head back against the couch.
Gauri: (soft)
We're never drinking again.
Zoey & Amitesh: (at the exact same time)
Yeah, sure.
They glance at each other, then burst into raspy, painful laughter.
The hangover morning is officially surviving. Barely. But together.