“Hat! Hat na! Arey HAAAAT NA!”

There I was—Paromita, future Miss Universe of my galli—trying to admire my divine reflection in the mirror, when suddenly…

THUD.

Enter: Kavya the Bulldozer.

“This you move!”

She literally shoved me like I was a sack of potatoes and planted herself in front of my mirror like she’d paid rent there.

“Let me do my makeup! You two do this every day! But today’s different. My Dev is coming. I HAVE to look like a goddess—no, like his goddess! Hato!”

Oh look, it’s Nitya Sharma, star of her own imaginary Netflix drama, “Dev and the Delusion”.

I was silently screaming in my head:

Uff, Nitya and her nakhre again! Drama Queen of the Year award goes to YOU, sweetheart.

Of course, I didn’t say it aloud—self-preservation, you know? Why risk losing my nose for someone else’s Dev?

“Arre Kavya! Use your phone camera, na! You’ve been getting ready since we were born. Now let me be ready too!”

I said it sweetly. Like an angel. A very sarcastic angel.

But guess what?

Ignored.

Like last season’s lehenga.

I swear, even the mirror looked embarrassed for me.

Yes Paro, once again, you have been ghosted by the people who live in the same house as you. So proud of you, beta. Wah. Kya baat hai.

Anyway… I decided to silently slay.

Makeup checklist:

Foundation: check. Blended so well, even my pores were like, “Where did we go?”

Primer: stuck better than toxic relationships.

Concealer: hide all trauma. Also the pimple.

Blush: because life’s already slapping me, might as well do it cutely.

Lipstick: the only red flag I’ll ever wear proudly.

Eyebrows: sharper than my relatives’ taunts.

Eyeshadow: dramatic, like my life.

Eyeliner: wings so sharp they can cut Nitya’s ego.

Outfit? Chef’s kiss. Ready to break hearts and maybe break a few rules of physics.

After 38 minutes of World War Mirror…

My two co-stars finally turned around and declared, “We’re done for today’s function! Raksha Bandhan, here we come!”

And just when I finally started to enjoy the rare moment of me-time with me…

“Paro! PARO! Tum teenon ready hui ki nahi?!”

Mummy.

Ah yes. The final boss.

Can’t even whisper to my own brain without being interrupted.

One day I’ll move to a secret cave with perfect Wi-Fi and mirrors just for me. Until then…

“Paro!”

Now she was full-volume banshee mode. I think the neighbours ducked.

Honestly, she could solve the energy crisis if someone figured out how to convert her gussa into electricity.

Ufff, Paro, ab bol de warna mummy tujhse mirror hi banwa legi. Chalo. Time to face the music.

"Paro, the doorbell’s been ringing nonstop—look, Adhidev must be here!"

Mummy’s voice cut through the air like a jolt of electricity.

Bhaiya’s here!

My heart skipped. A rush of excitement surged through me, bubbling like soda in a shaken bottle.

Six months.

It had been six long, Bhaiya-less months.

His silly jokes, his commanding presence, the way he used to roll his eyes at our over-the-top drama—I missed it all.

I could already hear his footsteps echoing in my head.

I smiled like an idiot.

"Wow! Dev is here! I'm going, I'm opening the door—wait, Paro!"

Nitya’s voice turned playful as she bounced towards the door like a sugar-high puppy.

She was flailing her arms, practically vibrating. Her excitement matched mine—but for very different reasons.

And she knew it.

"Leave it." I stopped her, my voice a notch serious now.

"Bhaiya doesn’t like all this childish drama. Don’t go melting into a puddle of affection."

I glanced at her.

She looked like she was about to start performing a dance of joy right in the hallway.

"If you want him to see you as ‘husband material,’ act the part. Otherwise, he'll end up tying a rakhi on your wrist."

I knew Bhaiya. He could sniff desperation like a bloodhound.

And Nitya, bless her, reeked of it today.

"Sit down. Quietly. I’ll go."

I said it with finality, flipping my dupatta over my shoulder like a warrior tying her armor.

"But…"

She tried to protest, but I was already halfway down the hall, ignoring her "but" like it was an ad in the middle of a YouTube video.

Bullet-train mode: on.

My lehenga flared behind me as I ran, one hand clutching it up to avoid tripping.

Goddamn these stairs!

I missed a step—twice.

My foot slammed into the wooden edge. Ow.

And of course, what’s a grand entrance without me scratching my nail on the railing?

Classic Paro.

But pain didn’t matter.

Bhaiya was here.

I could hear the doorbell again. He was probably getting impatient.

Maybe he thought we weren’t home. Or worse, that we’d forgotten.

As if that were even possible.

3… 2… 1… Trin-trinnnng!

The final ring hit like a starter pistol.

“BHAIYAAAAA!!!!”

I flung open the door with the force of a Bollywood heroine.

Without a second’s hesitation, I launched myself into his arms.

Warm. Familiar. Safe.

Home.

But… wait.

Something didn’t feel right.

His posture stiffened.

He didn’t hug back.

His arms stayed… suspended. Like he was holding a cactus.

My eyes blinked open.

Something was off.

"Paro!!??"

His voice was high-pitched, alarmed.

"What the hell!!!??"

I pulled back.

Wait. What?

Why was his expression like he’d just seen a ghost?

"Auuuuuugh! Damn it!"

I yelped.

My words slipped out before I could process what was wrong.

Did I say something weird? Did I break something? Was I hugging the wrong person?!

“What??”

His voice cracked with disbelief.

And then it hit me.

Like a bucket of cold water.

Did I just throw myself into the arms of the wrong guy?

To be continued.....

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