present
"No no not like this. Like this. Follow me. Pout your lips." She made a pouty face, holding his lips and turning them. "Like this, turn them more," her fingers pressed against his lips curling them, while she stared at them peculiar fascination and concentration. "I will teach you how to whistle; no really it's very easy." Armaan stared at her fascinated with the closeness of her body, the touch of her, the soft voice that rendered him speechless.
His hands slowly extended to her mask to peel it off her face when she held his hand giggling, "Heyy that's cheating. It's not allowed." She turned around and took down another vodka shot. Armaan grinned at her. "That's like your 8th shot." The girl returned his grin, "See? I am so strong. Nothing at all." She swayed a little falling into his arms.
"But I want to see you." He whispered into her ear huskily.
"Why dear love, what's in face? What if I don't look good? You'll run away?" she giggled trying to balance herself while his arms remain locked around her.
"Never."
Armaan woke up sweating. His hands cradled his head which was aching immensely. He knew it was flicker of the night. He kept having the flashes in no certain recurring pattern; however they were always so blurry that he always woke up sweating trying to read through them.
He looked at the wall clock and cursed. He had taken a nap for just an hour, but ended up sleeping two. He had been working continuously for two days without a break.
