The car rolled to a stop in the parking lot, and before the driver could even properly brake, I was already fumbling with the door. I jumped out first, clutching my dupatta like it was my shield, determined to escape any further humiliation.

I mean, why me? Why is it always me who ends up in these humiliating situations? Out of all the things in the world, I had to sound like a frog—a mother frog—in front of him.