The morning sunlight slipped through the half-closed blinds of yash's room, striking directly on the plain white walls that seemed too quiet, too lifeless. Apart from two or three framed family pictures, there was nothing that gave this place a human touch. His and Jeet’s bachelor flat was functional, nothing more. Three bedrooms: one his, one Jeet’s, one for the occasional guest. The living room though—looked like the battlefield of last night’s video game marathon. Empty packets of chips, soda cans, a half-broken controller, and worst of all—smelly socks thrown like landmines across the floor.
At 5 a.m., Yash sprawling shirtless on his bed, one arm dangling, hair messy. The alarm blasted, vibrating against the nightstand.
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