sadiasoria

Aditi and West hate each other. They bicker, they flirt, and are possibly a little in love.

Blotching the hot new guy's shirt with chocolate-mixed spit is probably not the best idea of a revenge, but Aditi soon discovers that she doesn't regret it one bit. Because despite being a jerk, West too knows what it's like to be brown, Muslim and falling apart in an all-white high school, and when he gets entangled in Aditi's struggle to tackle a debilitating trauma and a really, really loud Bangladeshi wedding, the fledgeling love-hate relationship will leave her either healed or heartbroken.

Or pretty dead, because an outbreak of crimes is gripping her quaint little town in fear, and the gorgeous flirt she's falling for has his fair share of ugly secrets. 
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© 2020 Sadia Soria

A Few Hundred Poppies

Art scowled at West's retreating figure like a connoisseur of art would at a hippie who'd graffitied a penis on Mona Lisa's head, and patted my shoulder with her soft hand. "Hey, fuck boys, right? Give it a whirl, girl! Nothing gets you over a guy like dancing." 


And so we danced. We danced until my feet hurt in the Everlane heels borrowed from Lee, and then I took off the heels and danced some more. Once it no longer mattered that who was watching and judging, I had nothing to fear. 


The Heartbreak Party