Unwillingly Yours

Kriti's POV:

I was jolted out of my peaceful sleep by the disgusting sound of my alarm clock. Ugh, the one thing I absolutely hate about my job is waking up this early .

Still half-asleep, I dragged myself out of bed, freshened up, and got dressed for the day. When I made my way downstairs, the smell of breakfast greeted me.

As usual, my parents were already up. Both of them have demanding jobs, so our paths only cross during breakfast and dinner. My mom's the principal of a college, and my dad’s a doctor and they were way busier than me, honestly.

"Good morning, Mom. Good morning, Dad," I greeted them with a smile as I slid into the chair beside my dad.

"Good morning, sweetheart," they replied almost in sync.

"I’ve packed your lunch. Don’t forget to take it with you," Mom said in her usual serious voice.

But I was already shaking my head. "Mom, come on. I’m not a kid anymore. It’s my workplace, not school. It’s not cool to carry a lunchbox like I’m in fifth grade. I’ll just eat at the canteen with my colleagues, okay? Don’t worry."

Mom looked annoyed, but before she could respond, Dad chimed in.

"Kriti, we know you've grown up, but you still need to listen to us. You can't treat us like we don’t exist in your life. Whatever we say is always for your own good."

Yep. Just a normal morning while breakfast served with a side of life advice.

I quietly continued eating, choosing not to argue further.

"Anyway," Dad said, "How’s work going? Any progress?"

I let out a tired sigh.

"No, not really. I used to think being a journalist would be easy. But it’s nothing like I imagined. You have to come up with eye-catching stories just to get people to read what you write. No matter how much effort I put in, my boss always says the same thing that It Could Be Better."

Frustration dripped from my words as I took another bite of my sandwich.

"Why are you so focused on gaining attention?" Mom started with her usual lecture, her voice calm but firm. "Focus on your work. Try to improve every day. Be patient because success doesn't happen overnight. You’ve just started in this field, Kriti. You need to be more passionate and give it time."

There it was ... The classic motivational speech with zero encouragement.

"Mom, I want to be a well-known journalist. That’s it," I said, my voice edged with frustration.

Dad jumped in next, because of course he would. "But Kriti, that takes time. You need more experience. You can’t expect everything to happen so soon."

I stared at them, feeling hollow. Why did it always feel like they just didn’t get me? Why did it always sound like they never believed in me?

"You know what, Dad? I was stupid to even bring this up. I thought maybe, I could get some support or ideas from you two. But like always, all I get is disappointment," I snapped.

Dad gave a short, sarcastic chuckle. "Well, I’m sorry if that’s how you feel. If you wanted to be a doctor, I could’ve helped. But journalism? That’s not exactly something I know about. It’s not the usual kind of job."

His words stung like ice water. Just because I didn’t choose to wear a white coat like him didn’t mean my career was worthless.

I couldn’t believe it that my own dad calling my dream 'unusual'  like it was some kind of joke. Anger flared in my chest.

"I’m done," I said coldly, pushing my plate away, my appetite gone.

"Kriti, finish your breakfast. It’s bad manners to leave like that,"  Mom said, trying to sound stern, but I didn’t even look back. I stormed out of the house without another word.

My whole mood was ruined.

I got into my car and started driving, gripping the steering wheel tightly. I tried to shake off the conversation, but it echoed in my head like an annoying ringtone I couldn’t turn off. I felt useless. Unseen.

And then....  CRASH.

I slammed on the brakes. My heart jumped.

I had turned right without fully focusing and hit another car.

"D*mn it!" I yelled, hitting the steering wheel.

I scrambled out of my car, hoping maybe it wasn’t too bad. But when I saw the damage, my heart sank deeper.

The front of my car was cracked and scratched. The other car? Not even a dent. Nothing.

Somehow that made me even angrier. Like my poor little car had been sacrificed just so the other one could remain perfect. I imagined the driver purposely saving his shiny car while mine took all the damage.

"Why the hell isn’t this dumb car moving?" A man’s deep voice yelled from inside the vehicle.

My jaw dropped. Seriously? He wrecks my car and then blames mine?

That was it.

"You blind fool! How dare you call my car dumb? Your disgusting car is the dumb, stupid, idiotic one," I shouted back, my voice echoing down the street. I didn’t care that his car was obviously way more expensive. I was too mad to be rational.

People started gathering around, curious to see what the chaos was about. But the man in the car didn’t even respond.

"If you don’t even know how to drive, then why the hell are you out on the road with your dumb car?" I shouted again.

This time, I heard the car door open. The next second, a young man stepped out  and for a second, my anger paused.

He was... handsome. Way too handsome to be real. He looked like he was headed to an office, dressed in a crisp shirt tucked perfectly into tailored pants. Even from a distance, I could see how flawless his features were with a sharp jawline, neatly styled hair, and a calm confidence in the way he moved.

I caught myself staring, lost in the unexpected distraction of his looks  until his voice snapped me back to reality.

"What’s wrong with you?"  he asked, his voice deep and commanding. "Where did you get the nerve to shout at me like that?"

His tone wasn’t raised, but his piercing gaze said everything. He was definitely p*ss*d.

For a moment, I just blinked at him, still halfway amused and halfway confused at how the universe had managed to make someone this good-looking and this annoying at the same time.

I looked away, inhaled deeply, and forced myself to focus.

"I don’t need the courage to shout at someone like you," I snapped, meeting his eyes again. "And let’s not forget that you were the one who shouted first and called my car dumb. So maybe you should ask yourself where you got the courage to insult it."

His jaw clenched tightly, and I could literally see the frustration ripple across his perfect face.

And honestly? I liked that. I wanted him to be angry. After all, my poor car was the one injured here.

Still holding his gaze, I took a step closer and crossed my arms.

"You're paying for the damage," I said firmly. "Every single penny. I’m not letting this go."

"Excuse me? You’re the one who crashed into my car and look at your dumb little car got wrecked from a tiny bump. Guess it’s as weak and stupid as its owner," He said with a devilish, mocking smirk that made my blood boil.

The small crowd watching our argument burst into laughter.

I stood there, stunned. How did he dare to call me weak and stupid?

"You arrogant b*st*rd," I shouted, unable to hold it in. "You think I’m weak? You should be thanking your lucky stars that I haven’t punched that smug face of yours yet."

He raised a sarcastic eyebrow, still wearing that irritating smile.

"It’s  actually my fault,"  he said coolly. "Wasting words and time on trash like you."

Then his tone turned sharp. "Now move your junk and get out of my way or I swear, I won’t think twice before running you over this time."

He turned back toward his car and reached for the door, but I was faster.

I rushed forward and slammed it shut with my hand, standing right in front of him.

"You’re not leaving," I hissed, my teeth clenched. "Not until you agree to pay for the damage you caused."

We were inches apart now, and I could see it  the anger in his eyes. For a moment, I actually thought he might hit me.

"Move,"  he warned, his voice low and dangerous. "Before I make you."

"I won’t," I said firmly, refusing to budge. I stood tall, blocking the door with every ounce of stubbornness I had.

Then, suddenly, a female voice came from the other side of the car.

"Abhi, we’re getting late for the office."

I glanced over following the voice and saw a stunning, graceful, and oddly familiar girl stepped out from the man's car. I stared at her face, feeling confused. I’d seen her somewhere before... I was sure of it.

But before I could figure it out...  Bang!

I felt a hard push, and the next thing I knew, I was falling.

Kriti's POV:

"Ouch!" I cried out, landing roughly on the pavement.

Pain shot through my right knee. The harsh road scraped against the skin, and my ripped jeans did nothing to protect me. My hands stung too from trying to break the fall. I looked up in disbelief.

He pushed me.

That arrogant, entitled jerk pushed me like I was nothing.

"Are you okay?" The girl ran over to me, her voice full of concern.

I had my eyes shut tight, trying to endure the pain shooting through my knee. I felt her hands gently helping me up.

With her support, I slowly stood. My right leg throbbed as I looked down and saw blood was trickling down from the scraped skin. It wasn’t a surprise, but seeing it still made my stomach twist.

"What did you just do, brother? Why would you push her like that?" the girl scolded him, turning sharply toward him. So, they were siblings but they seemed polar opposite in terms of manners.

I couldn't