Someone Like You Read Online Free

stuck out like a sore thumb. He was barely five nine, had terrible skin and was not the fittest of guys I have seen. He was far from perfect. The first time I saw both of them together, his hands holding hers, I was shocked and disappointed. Not because my sister had hidden it from me, but because I had always thought she would date someone much better-looking.
    ‘Did you like Viraat?’ she asks softly.
    ‘He is sweet, Simran.’
    She pauses a little and says, ‘I know what you’re thinking. You think that he is not good-looking or physically attractive. I know that. But he loves me, Niharika.’ The look on her face confuses me. Her lips quiver like a little child and she is blushing like a school girl who is in love for the first time.
    ‘I think he is okay,’ I say, not knowing what to say.
    ‘He is more than okay; he is amazing. He makes me feel so special and wanted. Niharika, finally I feel like I am into something real, something that is beyond just holding hands and spending time together. I love him for everything he says and the way he treats me. He is such a nice person that it’s almost unreal. When I first heard about his feelings for me, I was almost disturbed that he even thought that he had a chance to date me. But he was persistently so sweet to me, that I couldn’t help it. My friends still don’t understand it, but I am so freaking obsessed with him. I am embarrassed by how much I love him and I am surprised by how much he loves me. I don’t care what people think, I just love him truly and completely,’ she says with tears in her eyes.
    I hold her hand and she comes forward and hugs me. It seems like she had been waiting to say what she just did but she didn’t find anyone to pour her heart out to.
    ‘I am so happy for you,’ I say and find tears in my eyes too.
    ‘You know what—I hope every day that you find someone like Viraat too. Someone who treats you the way you should be treated. And that’s why we need some new clothes for you,’ she says and asks the auto driver to pull up.
    Finally, after an hour and half of sweating profusely in the back of the autorickshaw and cursing the weather and the driver in equal measure, we have reached Saket—the southern part of Delhi—where a few new malls have come up. We walk in and are relieved as the conditioned air hits our faces.
    ‘Gosh, it’s so hot out there. I need something to drink,’ I declare and look around.
    ‘Come, let’s sit here,’ Simran says and points to a Barista inside the mall. It’s a Saturday and the mall is crowded to the brim with people of all ages and sizes flocking to every outlet inside it. The waiter tells us that there is a fifteen-minute waiting time, but Simran charms him into giving us a table before anyone else. She then finds some magazines and asks me to go through them.
    ‘Are you serious? You want me to read this?’ I protest.
    ‘Of course! You have a problem?’ Simran asks.
    ‘This is … uh … I don’t … I don’t read all this,’ I say, pointing to the cover page of one of the magazines, which has a picture of a semi-nude, super-thin, glossy-looking actress and says
‘The No. 1 Sex Move He Craves—Dare To Do It. You Won’t Regret It!’
    ‘Grow up!’ Simran laughs at the look on my face and says, ‘Here—read these. Just skip the relationships segment and concentrate on fashion. Observe and learn.’
    She pushes some magazines—ranging from
Cosmopolitan
,
Verve
,
Marie Claire
and
Bazaar
to some whose names I cannot even pronounce—towards me. She points out hairstyles, colourcombinations, and options for shoes, and I stare at them all, mouth agape. The girls in the magazines are pretty and their clothes are even prettier. The kind of clothes Simran wears. Even today, she is in a yellow summer dress that ends at her knees and she looks beautiful in it. But these are also the kind of clothes I do
not
wear. I want to, but I’m afraid I would end up looking stupid in