Prologue

If a year back someone had told me that I will be occupying the corner seat in an igloo-structured cafe on the evening of April 2nd and furiously typing away on my laptop, I wouldn't have laughed, but I wouldn't have definitely taken them seriously too. (Beh! Thank you very much, but no thanks.)

However, if the same person had told me that I would have been writing the first draft of my own life's story that has just been out of a deadly roller coaster ride, I would have probably rolled over the floor laughing my ass off and if the person had told me that I would be writing about *gulp*  my Ex-boyfriend cum fiance: (the hotshot asshole for a young billionaire) this would have surely triggered a full-time hysteria.

For more than half of my life, I was anything, but a storyteller. The most phenomenal achievement in my 'writing career has been a bronze in the Essay Writing Competition' in grade four. Now, it doesn't necessarily mean that I am skill-less. 

I can dance (damn, I got moves and grace and all that flexibility!) I can paint. (Quick, where is the brush). I could cook too (without setting the kitchen on fire). I am good at trigonometry (if that counts as a skill) and I am a compassionate reader. But writing? Beh! 

I remember having a hard time drafting all those English assignments back at school. Although I was pretty good in examinations and all, the creative writing and answer writing was like the southern pole and the north! I just couldn't do it.

Well, it was kind of impossible for me.

There! I just used the word that I despise the most. I'm one of those for whom anything could be everything but impossible. I just have to gear up, push myself a little harder, and bam! I have done it: good or bad? Never mattered! 

So today, I am crammed in the small chair with a cup of steaming coffee, a rolled copy, a flair's blue tick-tick pen, and my recently bought Chromebook as my companions to write the exact episodes, and mention the same person that I dreaded the most in my life. And it is called confronting one's fear, moving forward, and shit.

If only I had known about it earlier, about him: I could have avoided so many sleepless nights and days of agonies. 

Then again, resentments are better than regret. I did what I had to do and I definitely don't regret anything. It started two years back when the day was about to be completed marking itself as 'just another day in my twenty and three-something years of my life. 

It had almost been a year since I had last seen him in his office sucking the air out of his hot and exotic secretary. The bitch Sasha Anderson was on her way to stretching her cunt for my so-called fiance.   

It was 'the day' which brought havoc in my life and flipped it upside down. It was the day when the first episode of The Conjugal Rights begun.