-• I HATE MONDAYS •-

10 YEARS LATER

TARA RAICHAND

📍 LONDON, UK.

A little more heat, and I swear, I’ll fucking melt.

The blazing sun has sucked every ounce of energy out of me, leaving me drenched in sweat, my white t-shirt sticking uncomfortably to my back. The humid air clings to my skin like an annoying ex who refuses to let go.

Wiping my sweaty forehead with my scarlet handkerchief, I step up to my apartment door and quickly dial the passcode on the digital lock. The small screen blinks green, and with a tired sigh, I push open the mahogany door.

The cool air inside greets me like a long-lost lover, and I nearly moan at the contrast.

I quickly kick off my sneakers, placing them neatly on the shoe rack in the corner before sliding my feet into my fluffy flip-flops. The soft material cushions my aching feet as I sluggishly make my way down the narrow hallway leading to the living room.

“Ree!” I yell, throwing my backpack onto the side table before flopping face-first onto the couch like a dead fish.

Silence.

I wait for a second—nothing.

Frowning, I lift my head slightly. “Raah!” I try again, voice louder this time, pushing myself up from the couch.

I drag my feet toward the kitchen, my stomach growling as I peek over the dining table—empty.

My frown deepens. Where are they?

I glance at my wristwatch—7 PM.

Something feels... off.

Confused, I stalk back into the living room, grab my phone from my backpack’s front pocket, and nearly drop the damn thing.

27 missed calls.

12 from Raha.

15 from Reewa.

My heart stops.

Oh. My. God. I’m so dead.

Panic bubbles in my chest as I plop down on the floor, my mind racing. What did I forget?

I mentally cry a little as I hesitantly dial Ree’s number.

She picks up on the fifth ring.

Silence.

A deadly, suffocating silence.

I clutch my phone tighter, swallowing down my fear.

“Hello, Ree?” I finally mutter, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Where. Are. You?”

I shudder. Oh no. She sounds like she’s gonna murder me, bury me, dig me up, stab me 12 times, and bury me again.

And why 12 times? Because it’s her favorite number.

I nervously clear my throat. “Home,” I whisper, then hesitantly add, “Am I supposed to be somewhere else?”

The pause on the other end is deafening.

Then she speaks. “You were supposed to be at the airport TWO HOURS AGO to drop Raha off.”

Her shout makes me flinch, and I squeeze my eyes shut, dragging a hand down my face.

“Oops.”

I lower my gaze to the cream-colored carpet, picking at the soft fibers like they might somehow save me from the wrath of Reewa.

“I’m coming back,” she finally says, her voice sharp as a knife.

I scramble to fix this. “Should I come—”

Tick.

She hung up.

I stare at my phone screen, horrified.

“She’s gonna be so mad.”

Groaning, I threw my phone onto the carpet and dramatically spread my arms out, staring at the ceiling like my soul just left my body.

Yeah. I’m totally dead.

My phone blares, a sharp sound piercing through the heavy silence of my apartment.

Startled, I jerk up too fast, my body moving before my brain can catch up—

BAM.

Pain shoots through my elbow as it smacks against the sharp corner of the glass table, the impact sending a dull ache through my arm.

"Fuck!" I hiss, clutching my throbbing elbow while glaring at my still-ringing phone.

Whoever is calling me right now is so getting cursed out.

With a soft wince, I shake off the pain and finally glance at the screen—

—and freeze.

My breath catches.

My heart? MIA. Probably dead.

The call rings two more times before ending, the silence after almost mocking me.

Shit.

I snap out of my mini heart attack, scrambling up from the floor like my life depends on it. My fingers fumble as I quickly navigate to my contacts, tapping on his name.

The second before my call connects, the screen lights up again.

Incoming call: Veer.

I inhale sharply and hit accept like my life depends on it.

“Hello!”

His husky voice slides through the speaker, smooth and deep, like melted caramel.

I suck in a deep breath, gripping my phone tightly.

No matter how many times he calls, it always feels like the first time.

“Heyy!” I yell a little too enthusiastically, my excitement slipping out before I can rein it in.

Tara, chill. You don’t want to scare him away.

His footsteps echo through the call, the sound distant but oddly intimate.

“How are you, Tara?”

He asked about me. HE ASKED ABOUT ME.

My stomach does an entire gymnastics routine, but I school my voice into neutral territory.

“I’m perfect,” I say, forcing my tone to be calm and not like I’m about to combust.

“That’s good.” He pauses. “I tried calling Ree, but she isn’t picking up. Everything alright?”

Concern laces his voice, and my heart swells.

“Yeah, everything’s good.” I clear my throat, pushing down the warmth spreading through my chest. “Ree’s at the airport, dropping Raah off.”

My throat feels dry.

I should get some water.

A beat of silence. Then—

“You sound a little dehydrated. Are you drinking enough water, young lady?”

Oh my god.

His tone drops into that strict, scolding voice, the one that always makes my knees weak.

I close my eyes, picturing his furrowed brows and slightly pursed lips as he says it.

What’s worse? He sounds dead serious.

Suppressing a smile, I stride toward the kitchen, rolling my eyes.

“Stop being my grandpa, Veer,” I mumble, setting my phone on the counter and switching it to speaker mode as I reach for the fridge.

As I grab a cold water bottle, a traitorous thought slips out of my mouth—

“Be my boyfriend instead.”

The moment the words leave my lips, my soul ascends.

“What?”

I choke.

Literally.

A small coughing fit erupts as I slam the fridge shut, my entire body combusting.

Did I just—

Oh my fucking god.

“N-nothing.” I clear my throat aggressively, hoping the universe will erase my existence.

“Okay.”

Abort mission. ABORT.

I quickly twist the cap off my bottle and gulp down some water, pretending like I didn’t just humiliate myself.

Veer hums again, and my brain short-circuits.

“Okay then, I’ll call you later. Take care and drink water.”

His voice is soft at first, but by the end, it shifts into stern territory again.

I groan dramatically. “Yes, Grandpa Veer.”

He starts scolding me again, but before he can lecture me for the hundredth time, I end the call.

For a moment, I just stare at my phone.

Processing.

Then—

“AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

I scream into my hands, rolling onto the cold tiled floor like a deranged lunatic.

My neighbours are probably calling the cops.

I twirl in circles, hugging my own arms and kicking my feet in the air.

HE CALLED ME.

VEER CALLED ME.

I grin like a fool, my face burning hotter than the Sahara Desert.

Then, as quickly as my excitement flares, I freeze.

I’m twenty years old.

Not a kid.

I can’t be twirling around like a Disney princess just because my crush called me.

No. I can’t.

I straighten my shoulders, smoothing down my shirt, clearing my throat like a composed adult.

…Then I let out another silent scream.

Yeah. I’m doomed.

The sound of footsteps echoes through the apartment, pulling me out of my daydream haze.

Slowly, I turn my head towards the source of the sound, my breath hitching when I lock eyes with Reewa.

She stands near the pillar, her frame slightly hunched forward like a predator before the kill, eyes dark with murderous intent.

A single slipper dangles in her right hand, her grip so tight the veins in her arms pop slightly.

I swallow hard.

Her entire aura screams violence, and goosebumps prickle my skin.

Ah, so this is how I die.

Despite the sheer terror coursing through me, I force an awkward smile.

“Uhh… Hey there, bestie!” I say, my voice pitched slightly higher than normal.

She doesn’t respond. Her eyes narrow.

I brace myself, every cell in my body activating survival mode.

Alright, Tara, this is it. RUN.

I suck in a deep breath, count to three, then turn on my heels and bolt—

straight for the stairs.

“I’M SORRY! I WILL NEVER FORGET ANYTHING AGAIN!” I scream at the top of my lungs, my bare feet pounding against the wooden steps as I scramble for my life.

Behind me, I hear thunderous footsteps, followed by a whooshing sound—

I duck instinctively just as something flies past my head, bouncing off the wall with a loud THWACK.

Was that—

I risk a glance behind me.

The slipper lies on the floor, its once innocent existence now tainted with pure violence. I ignore it and run to my room closing the door with a loud huff.

“TARA, YOU ARE GETTING BURIED TONIGHT! COME OUT, RIGHT NOW!”

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The door shakes violently as Reewa pounds on it with all her strength.

I press my back against the cool wooden surface, heart hammering wildly in my chest.

“Please na, Ree! I’m your best friend, no?” I plead, pressing my palms together like I’m praying to some divine power.

“Forgive me today, and I promise I’ll do your laundry for a week!” My voice turns desperate, dripping with helplessness.

Silence.

For a moment, I think she’s considering it, and hope flickers in my chest.

Then—

“One month, and we are cool.”

I gasp.

The hypocrisy. The audacity.

She only did my laundry for two days the last time she pissed me off!

I open my mouth to protest, fully prepared to fight for my basic human rights, but—

“But—”

“No more discussion.”

I let out a dramatic cry, throwing my head back in defeat.

Fine. Let it be known that I fought till my last breath.

Just as I’m about to start sulking, her voice softens.

“Come downstairs. I’m making mac and cheese.”

Everything stops.

My fake suffering evaporates.

My entire body perks up.

Did she just—

I rip the door open with a jerk, throwing myself at her like a starved man who just found food.

She stumbles back slightly, a surprised laugh escaping her lips as I wrap my arms around her tightly.

“You are the best!” I declare, pressing a loud, exaggerated peck on her cheek.

“Ew!” She scrunches her nose in disgust, pushing my face away with the palm of her hand like I’m a dirty stray dog.

I scoff, dramatically wiping my lips. “You’re so ungrateful.”

She rolls her eyes, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“Just come downstairs before I change my mind.”

Without another word, I practically skip behind her, following her down the stairs like a happy puppy.

Mac and cheese solves everything.

Even near-death experiences.

*****

I woke up feeling like shit.

The first thought that crosses my mind?

Who the actual fuck invented Mondays?

I just wanna have a sweet little talk with that genius idiot. A little one-on-one conversation to understand what exactly was going on in their brainless mind when they decided,

"You know what the world needs? A fresh dose of suffering at the start of every week.”

Why do I think it was a guy who invented it?

Because women aren’t dumb enough to curse the entire planet with such misery.

I groan and turn to my right, glaring at Reewa who is sleeping peacefully, completely oblivious to the existential crisis I'm having.

Well, I can't let that happen.

Without hesitation, I kicked her ass.

She jerks awake with a startled gasp, blinking like a confused newborn thrown into reality.

“The fuck?” she grumbles, rubbing her eyes.

I simply shrug, getting off the bed while she continues grumbling incoherent curses under her breath.

She’ll take a while to fully regain consciousness.

I grab my toothbrush, stuffing it into my mouth before dragging my feet to the balcony.

As I step out, the cool morning breeze makes me shiver slightly, sending a pleasant chill over my skin.

I absentmindedly scan the surroundings, my mind still half-dead.

Rich people and their obsession with wasting huge amounts of money on apartments they never use.

This place?

Yeah. This is my uncle’s apartment.

A man who has never even stepped foot in London—or anywhere in the UK, for that matter. And yet, he owns this big-ass luxury apartment here.

For what?

Decoration? Bragging rights? To flex in front of his other rich-ass friends?

It’s beyond me.

Though, I won't lie. The view outside is pretty.

A street away from here, I spot a coffee shop—my favorite one.

I love their coffee, even though I'm more of a tea person. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

And right now?

I’m so fucking exhausted that even opening my eyes feels like an Olympic-level challenge.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive in this cruel world with a sleep-deprived body.

Okay, maybe that’s me exaggerating again.

But still. No problem? No opinion.

I let out a deep sigh, rubbing my temple.

But then my heart drops.

The real problem?

My Economics test.

Today.

Fuck.

I genuinely suck at that subject.

Math? I ace it.

But Economics? It ruins my entire existence.

It’s like my brain automatically shuts down the moment someone tries to explain macroeconomics to me.

Like, I'm not a dumb student, okay? But this subject?

It sucks the life out of me.

If it were up to me, I’d delete Economics from the face of the Earth.

But then again… no Economics means no money flow, no trade, no big-ass businesses.

Which means this big-ass world wouldn’t function.

Fine. I’ll tolerate it.

For the sake of my cute little earthlings.

Ha! I’m so great.

Just then—

“THE FUCK IS HAPPENING IN THE WORLD, AND WHY IS IT FUCKING MONDAY AGAIN?!”

A loud scream of agony echoes through the apartment.

Ah.

She’s awake now.

27 minutes.

She came to her senses in 27 minutes.

An improvement from her usual one-hour recovery period.

I smirk to myself, feeling proud of her.

Until—

BANG! BANG! BANG!

A sudden harsh knock rattles the apartment door.

A voice follows.

“Open up, young lady!”

I groan, dragging my feet toward the entrance while passing a still half-dead Reewa, who is frantically searching for her phone.

I twist the doorknob and come face-to-face with—

Maria Villanova.

Our sweet (read: not-so-sweet) neighbor.

I put on my best polite smile.

“Yes, Ms. Maria. What a pleasant surprise.”

She stares at me, her expression unimpressed.

Her thick Russian accent rolls off her tongue as she sighs in irritation.

“How many times have I told you to keep your voices in check? My baby is sleeping. Don’t shout. He gets scared.”

The baby in question?

A dog.

A very cute but nasty little piece of shit.

I adore him, but I’m not gonna pretend he’s not a demon reincarnate.

Still, I grin at her, placing a hand over my heart dramatically.

“Sorry, darling. Won’t happen again.”

She eyes me suspiciously, then gives a sharp nod before stepping back.

I take that as my cue to slam the door shut.

Fucking nuisance.

Always acting sweet, but she’s a grade-A bully who shamelessly judges everyone for their appearance and choices.

I had to humble her a few times, so she doesn’t dare mess with me anymore.

Satisfied, I turn on my heel and head to the bathroom.

Standing in front of the mirror, I rinse my mouth and examine my reflection.

Damn. I look good today.

Right as I’m admiring myself, I hear a snicker.

“You look like a witch.”

I glance at Reewa through the mirror, who is washing her face in the other sink, her lips curled in amusement.

I roll my eyes.

“Didn’t ask for your unwanted opinion, sweetie.”

I smile sweetly at her, flipping her off with zero hesitation.

She doesn’t miss a beat.

“It was a fact, honey.”

Her voice is just as sickeningly sweet.

I finish drying my face with a towel before remembering—

“We are getting late for today’s test.”

Her hand freezes mid-air.

She slowly turns her head toward me, her expression shifting from amusement to pure horror.

“We have a test?”

Her voice comes out flat.

Well. Shit.

******

Second chapter will be updated in the evening. Consider it a bonus for posting late🫶