Most of the time, I have my traumas buried six feet under, smothered by newer, brighter memories. And yet, like a zombie clawing its way out of the grave, old feelings, memories I wish I could forget, manage to pull themselves up. On the worst days, I’m the one helping them out.
Leila wanted a love like the movies — wild, consuming, unforgettable.
In a small family flat in 1990s Dubai, Leila builds her world from Bollywood films, borrowed lipstick, and dreams far too big for her living room. She lives in cinematic scenes and dramatic dialogues, convinced that love should feel like thunder… fast, breathless, impossible to ignore.
Then comes Abdullah. Cold-eyed. Dangerous. Possessive.
He doesn’t sweep her off her feet. He pins her to the wall. And she lets him. He’s not a good man. But his love for Leila? It’s the only thing about him that feels true. So he claims her. And Leila, too enamored to run, lets herself burn.
What unfolds isn’t a love story. It’s a fever dream.
Stolen glances. Quiet bruises. A chokehold on her mind that tightens with every kiss. And by the time Leila realizes she’s vanished inside the very story she romanticized, it’s already too late.
To Hell With You is not a love story.
It’s a story about the damage love leaves behind and what it takes to survive it. About the kind of man who sets you on fire.
And how, one day, you quietly, patiently, help yourself step out of the smoke.
Sold out
Sold out
