One dismal day after another. You think your frustration is unprecedented in the history of corporate slavery, but then you meet other people at lunch and get even more frustrated.
You know you deserve more. Because you have a life to live, you should be living it in the best way possible. In bed all weekend. With him. Dark room. Blindfolds. Silence. Heavy breathing. And sweat, lots of sweat.
Before you know it, it’s Friday, and your wish suddenly comes true. You spend the entire weekend lying in a room as dark as night with a strange bedfellow with a dupatta tied around your head, body writhing in sweat, breathing heavy. It’s only silent when you finally fall asleep.
Except, you’re in bed with a migraine instead of him.