Kavya’s POV:
It was Monday morning. Sunlight peeked through the window, casting a golden hue in the bedroom. As always, my home was bustling with chaos.
I could hear birds chirping, the clanking of my mother’s bangles, and my sister Preetika chanting some mantra while doing pooja—or maybe she was asking God for something again.
A faint sound of the TV came from the living room. Must be Papa. It's his daily routine: wake up early, get ready, switch on the news, and yell at journalists as if he were on the debate panel himself. Meanwhile, Maa was in the kitchen, as always, making sure breakfast was ready before Papa could lash out.
“Kavyaa… Kavya! Wake up. Papa ne dekh liya na ki tu ab tak soyi hai, toh tere saath-saath main bhi sunungi. Chal, jaldi uth,” my sister yelled but not loud enough for Papa to hear.
“Yaar, waise bhi woh kaunsa din hota hai jab hum Papa se nahi sunte? Please let me sleep, just five minutes,” I murmured, face buried in the pillow.
“Kavya, dekh, 8 baj chuke hain. Tujhe office nahi jaana kya? Chal uth jaldi, warna main Papa ko bol dungi,” Preetika di threatened in her bossy tone.
“Ha-ha, Papa ke saamne aapki awaaz toh nikalti nahi hai. Complaint kya karogi?” I pulled the blanket tighter. “Chalo, agar aaj aapne sach mein Papa ko bol diya na, toh main aapko treat dungi.”
Before she could say anything, Maa barged in. “Kavya… ye ladki abhi tak so rahi hai? Chal jaldi uth, warna naashta thanda ho jayega,” she said, yanking my blanket off.
I groaned and opened my eyes.
“Haan toh ho jaane do. Waise bhi hame konsa nashte mein croissant aur hot chocolate milne wale hai, khana toh chai aur toast hi hai.”
“Croiss… kya? Woh kya hota hai?” Maa frowned.
“Maa, woh paris ki ek famous breakfast hai,” Preetika chirped.
“Ye aur iske Paris ke sapne,” Maa muttered. “Accha, yeh croisso-wrosso toh nahi hai, lekin aaj kachori zaroor hai. Tere papa lekar aaye hain.” She said while folding my blanket.
I finally sat up, rubbing my eyes.
“Kyun? Aaj kuch special hai?”
“Haan, Riya ka rishta pakka ho gaya hai. Papa keh rahe the kaafi ameer ghar mein baat hui hai. Mumbai mein hi rehte hain,” Maa informed us.
“Hmmm… wahi toh main soch rahi thi, aaj kachoriyan kyun? Papa apni betiyon ke liye kabhi itna khush thodi honge.”
“Aisa nahi hai beta,” Maa tried to explain but I was already heading to the bathroom.
“Anuuu! Preetikaa! Agar tum logon ki panchayat poori ho gayi, toh koi mujhe nashta dega?” Papa’s voice boomed from the living room.
And that’s how our morning starts—full of chaos and mayhem.
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Author’s POV:
In the living room, Ajay sat like a king on his throne—TV remote in one hand, a half-filled glass of something strong in the other. His eyes were red with fury and intoxication.
Anu brought a plate of kachori and jalebi, placing it on the coffee table. The aroma of ghee and the sweet scent of jalebi filled the room. Preetika followed with a glass of water, though she knew it wasn’t needed.
“Is ghar mein teen-teen auraton ke hone ka kya fayda, jab nashta time par na mile. Din bhar bas baaton mein lagi rehti ho,” he blasted.
Then he went back to the TV—yelling at the journalists as if somehow, they would hear him.
This was the Bansal family routine.
Anu always tried to do everything right so she wouldn’t infuriate her husband. But Ajay Bansal never needed a reason to get angry.
Preetika stayed close to her mother, helping, shielding her from his wrath. She didn’t want to anger him herself, so she kept her head down and obeyed.
Kavya, the opposite of Preetika, didn't dislike her father—but didn’t love him either. She just wished he was a better father, specially… a better husband. She often watched her friends’ dads and wondered if she’d ever share that bond with her own. But she knew the relationship with her father was scarred—beyond repair.
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Kavya’s POV:
By the time I left the bathroom, the only sound I could hear was of clanging utensils and vegetable vendors shouting outside. I dried my hair, wore my slightly baggy blue jeans with a pink kurti, tied my hair in a high ponytail, applied some light makeup, and put on my favorite jhumka. Perfect.
I walked in the living room to find papa who had already crashed on the couch. Maa was prepping for lunch and preetika di devoured jalebis at the dining table.
“I thought you were on a diet?” I teased, raising an eyebrow.
“Hamare ghar mein kabhi-kabhi toh bahar se ye saari cheeje aati hai. Khaane de mujhe, aur nazar mat laga,” she snapped, mouth full.
“Haan, theek hai. Don’t get mad,” I laughed, stealing a jalebi from her plate, when Maa joined, knife in one hand, vegetables in the other.
“Waise, yeh riya ki shaadi kuch jaldi nahi ho rahi hai? I mean ok, Ladka rich hai and all but wo mujhse sirf ek saal badi hai aur Preetika di se teen saal chhoti. Itni jaldi kya hai?” I asked.
“Ab agar Riya chahti hai shaadi karna toh problem kya hai? Accha-khaasa ghar hai. Khush rahegi,” Maa replied.
“Hmmm… jaise kisi ne uski marzi puchhi hogi,” I muttered.
“Waise, ye ladke wale kaun hai? Hum jaante hain kya unhe?” Preetika di asked.
“Nahi, Aastha bhabhi se baat hui. Woh log mumbai se hain, bade businessman ka beta hai. Woh keh rahi thi ki kaafi ameer aur jaane-maane log hai” Maa said.
“Tab toh hum unhe pakka nahi jaante. Itne rich logon se hamara kya lena-dena,” I joked, earning a smack on the head from my sister.
“Maa, unhone naam bataya? Main online search karke dekhti hoon,” she said, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“Haan, kuch bataya toh tha… Tanejaa,” Maa tried to recall. “Haan, Veer Taneja,” she exclaimed.
“Kuch mila?” I asked. As she typed on her phone vigorously.
“Yes!! Veer Taneja. Son of Rishi and Maahi Taneja. He's the youngest in the family. Unka kaafi faila hua business hai—Taneja Constructions, Textiles, Hospitality… Wahhh, Riya ki toh lottery lag gayi!”
“Zaroori nahi hai,” I argued.
“What do you mean?” she asked, squinting her eyes.
“I mean… kya guarantee hai ki wo accha insaan hai? Just because unke pass paisa hai, doesn’t mean woh wahan khush rahegi. Aur uper se woh sabse chhota beta hai. I'm sure he's just a rich, bigda hua, maa ka raja beta,” I ranted.
“Haan, toh tu bhi toh hamare ghar ki chhoti beti hai. We can say the same for you also,” she teased.
“Haan, lekin fark yeh hai ki main rich nahi hoon… yet,” I said. “Anyways, main kaafi late ho rahi hoon, I need to run now, Byee.”
The sunlight was now shining bright and people were busy in their usual endeavours. I hopped into the rickshaw. The warm breeze was striking my face but all I could think of was my cousin.
Even though we live in entirely different parts of the country, the bond between us never broke. She was as dear to me and preetika di as we were to her. However we can't say the same about our fathers, who are actual brothers. The influence of money and social status can poison even the most precious relationships, which is why I'm genuinely grateful that the bitterness of our fathers never succeeded to ruin our relationship.
Though we didn’t talk daily, I knew her enough to know this marriage decision wasn’t hers.
I have to talk to her.
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Author's note: Heyy readers, I'm a new author, so If you liked this chapter then please press the vote button and comment.
Thanks for reading❤️
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