Ruchika Savithri had always been the kind of girl who did things her own way. At twenty-six, she was still single, and in the chaotic streets of Mumbai, that was a strange thing to be. But she wasn't bothered by it—at least not much. Who needed a boyfriend when she had her art?

She spent most of her time in her apartment, creating worlds and men that didn't exist. Her specialty? Drawing the kinds of men who looked like they just stepped out of an action movie—perfectly sculpted abs, sharp jawlines, and smoldering eyes that would make anyone fall in love at first sight. They were her escape, her daydreams on paper. But her artistic fantasies were constantly interrupted by the one man she could never seem to escape: Abhishek Sharma.

Abhishek was, in a word, insufferable. He was loud, obnoxious, and, worst of all, annoyingly attractive. From the moment they were neighbors as kids, Ruchika had loathed him. He was always there, either in her peripheral vision or audibly ruining her peace. Take, for instance, his nightly ritual of shadow batting on his balcony while blasting Diljit Dosanjh's music at a volume that could probably be heard in the next district. And then, there was the time he decided to take out the trash shirtless at the exact moment Ruchika was out on her balcony, trying to get some peace and quiet.

She hated it. She hated how his mere presence seemed to interrupt her life. But what really drove her crazy wasn't even his constant noise or his half-naked trash runs. No, the worst part of all this was Diya Saha, her best friend and roommate, who had developed a very apparent crush on Abhishek. And it wasn't just any ordinary crush—it was full-on, heart-fluttering, hopeless-romantic type of crush.

Ruchika, however, had bigger things to focus on—like her art. She wasn't going to let Abhishek, with his ridiculous charm and his loud, obnoxious presence, get in the way of her creativity. There was only one thing about him she could tolerate: his baby cousin, Amayra. The little girl had an innocent affection for Ruchika and, unlike Abhishek, she was a breath of fresh air.

Still, no matter how many times she tried to ignore it, the fact remained: Abhishek Sharma, her childhood enemy, was the most irritating part of her day.

Abhishek seemed to have no concept of personal space—or, more specifically, the concept of boundaries between his shirtless body and Ruchika's private time. Every time Ruchika tried to focus on her work, there he was, lounging on his balcony, the sun glinting off his glistening, sculpted abs as if he were some sort of Greek god sent to torment her. It didn't help that he was always wearing those ridiculously low-slung shorts that only served to emphasize the perfect V-shape of his waist, leaving her with absolutely no peace.

It was like clockwork. Every evening, right as the sun began to set, Abhishek would appear, barefoot and confident, on his balcony. Ruchika could hear the creak of the door before she even saw him—each time, it was the same. She'd be sitting on her couch, sketchbook in hand, attempting to draw men who didn't make her want to scream in frustration, and then there he'd be. Casual. Relaxed. Shirtless.

And the worst part? He knew he was doing it. Ruchika was sure of it. He would catch her glancing at him from the corner of her eye, her concentration shattered, and give her that stupid, infuriating smirk. That smug, 'I'm-too-hot-for-my-own-good' expression that made her want to throw her sketchbook at him.

As if his sheer presence wasn't enough, Abhishek would make things even worse by leaning lazily on the balcony railing, his phone playing music loudly enough for Ruchika to hear every beat of Diljit's latest track. It was like he was taunting her, amplifying every annoying trait she hated about him in the most calculated way possible.

On one particularly infuriating evening, Ruchika had had enough. She was in the middle of sketching her favorite imaginary man—a tall, dark, and handsome creation who could make anyone swoon—and just as she was about to add the final touches to his jawline, there came that familiar sound: the door sliding open. She could feel her blood pressure rise before she even saw him.

Sure enough, there he was. Standing on his balcony, sipping from a bottle of water, completely unaware of the chaos he was causing in Ruchika's life. Her pen nearly snapped in her hand as she watched him stretch, his muscles rippling with every movement.

"Are you serious?" Ruchika muttered under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.

And then, just as she was about to turn away, Abhishek did something that made her blood boil even more. He *looked* over at her balcony, caught her eye, and—oh, no—grinned. That infuriating, cocky grin that made her want to scream.

"Nice sketch," he called out, his voice loud enough to carry over to her side. "But I think your guy needs to work on his abs. Not quite as impressive as mine."

Ruchika froze. Did he just—did he just—mock her art? And, more importantly, her men? The ones she spent hours crafting in her mind, the ones who could never look like him?

She slammed her sketchbook shut, her hand trembling in pure irritation. But before she could retreat back into the safety of her apartment, Diya walked in, catching Ruchika mid-rant.

"What's going on now?" Diya asked, raising an eyebrow as she looked between Ruchika and the balcony.

Ruchika threw her hands up in exasperation. "Abhishek! He's always shirtless! Always!"

Diya's eyes lit up at the mention of Abhishek's name. "Hmm, sounds like a good view," she teased, leaning against the doorframe. "I mean, come on, who wouldn't want a piece of that?"

Ruchika shot her a glare. "No. He's insufferable. That man is impossible."

"Maybe, but I bet he's impossible in all the right ways," Diya said with a wink, her playful grin betraying her excitement at the idea.

Ruchika rolled her eyes. "You and your Abhishek obsession..."

But Diya simply laughed and left the room, leaving Ruchika to stew in her aggravation. She could feel the heat of frustration rising in her chest as she looked back at her balcony. Abhishek had no idea how much he was getting on her nerves.

And as if on cue, she heard it again—Diljit's voice, blasting from Abhishek's balcony. Ruchika had never been more certain of one thing in her life: she was definitely not going to survive living next door to this man for much longer.

Diya's obsession with Abhishek was something Ruchika had come to terms with, but that didn't mean it didn't drive her insane. Every time Diya was around, it was as if her entire world revolved around him. It wasn't just innocent admiration—it was full-on, heart-thumping, fluttery-eyed infatuation. And Ruchika had a front-row seat to it all, whether she liked it or not.

It was always the same routine. Diya would get home from work, her eyes lighting up the second she spotted Abhishek on his balcony. And if she wasn't already on her way over to "casually" chat with him, she'd spend the next few minutes casually "forgetting" something in the living room, just so she had an excuse to walk past Ruchika's room and stare out the window. The moment she caught sight of Abhishek, she'd practically glow, rushing to send him a text or wave in his direction.

Ruchika was getting tired of it. There had been numerous occasions where she had to listen to Diya gush about how "charming" Abhishek was, or how his "confident swagger" was just too irresistible. Ruchika's eye twitched every time, and she'd try to tune it out by retreating into her art. But even that wasn't enough to keep her from hearing Diya's voice float through the apartment, telling Ruchika about the latest "coincidence" where Abhishek had "casually" bumped into her at the grocery store, or how he'd "totally" complimented her new dress.

It wasn't that Ruchika didn't like Diya—she did. They'd been roommates for nearly a year, and despite the occasional annoyance, Diya was fun and kind-hearted. But her obsessive crush on Abhishek was testing Ruchika's patience.

One evening, Ruchika had her head buried in her sketchbook, trying to forget about the loud music blasting from Abhishek's balcony and the sudden cheerful giggles from Diya. She was so focused on her latest landscape drawing that she didn't hear Diya enter the room until she was standing right next to her.

"Ruchika, guess what?" Diya's voice was so bright, it almost made Ruchika flinch. "Abhishek asked me to grab coffee with him tomorrow."

Ruchika blinked, putting down her pencil, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "Oh, did he now? How... surprising," she muttered, not even bothering to hide the sarcasm.

Diya didn't seem to notice, or maybe she didn't care. She was too busy bouncing on her feet, practically glowing with excitement. "I think it's going to be so much fun. You know, he's actually really nice once you get to know him. And he's so funny! He really gets me, Ruchika."

Ruchika couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure he does. Probably better than he gets me, considering how much he likes to annoy me."

Diya tilted her head, her expression shifting slightly. "What do you mean? You and Abhishek don't get along?"

Ruchika let out a frustrated sigh. "We don't get along because he's loud, obnoxious, and always always—shirtless on his balcony, Diya. And now you're telling me you're going to go have coffee with him? What next? Are you going to start bringing him over for movie nights?"

Diya's eyes softened, sensing the frustration in Ruchika's tone. "Ruchika, relax. It's just coffee. But I have to admit, he is pretty cute. And—" She grinned mischievously. "He definitely knows how to pull off a shirtless look."

Ruchika shot her a glare. "Yeah, well, that's real cute, Diya. I'm sure he's completely unaware of the effect he has on you."

"Maybe so, but I'm not going to let that stop me from having a little fun, right?" Diya winked, teasing her friend, before flopping down on the couch. "You should come with us tomorrow. It'll be fun!"

Ruchika was about to protest, but stopped herself. She knew this was futile. Diya was going to do what she wanted, no matter how many times Ruchika tried to warn her about Abhishek's... ways. And, honestly, Ruchika didn't really want to be the buzzkill. She was the last person who should be calling out her friend for pursuing a cute guy.

"Fine," Ruchika said, her tone resigned. "Go have your coffee with Mr. Perfect." She made air quotes around "Mr. Perfect," making Diya giggle.

"Oh, I will. And who knows? Maybe he'll even take his shirt off for you," Diya teased, nudging her playfully.

Ruchika let out a frustrated groan and grabbed her sketchbook again. "I swear to God, Diya, you and your obsession with that guy are going to be the end of me."

But as Diya skipped out of the room, Ruchika couldn't shake the feeling that her days of peace and quiet were numbered. Because no matter what she did, no matter how many landscapes she drew or how far she buried herself in her art, the one thing she couldn't escape was Abhishek, her irritating, ridiculously attractive, always-shirtless neighbor.