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Today's day started with a bang—quite literally—as I dreamed about messing up etiquette classes and getting scolded for life again.
"Ugh, why is it so hard to be like the other boring rich kids," I cursed under my breath. Yes, boring rich kids, because cool is what I am, not fake and utterly polished. But to keep the promise I made to Bhaiya to save Kiddo from those stupid hospital machines, do I regret saving him? Yes, and a big no. Samayara discovered a part of me that I didn't know existed in a night, and living like that truly makes me feel like I'm a better person, which I'm sure I'm not. But things fall into place just like she said.
Ever since I started these classes, despite them being the last thing I wanted, they've helped me feel a little more loved.
Bhaiya has been more open with me, introducing me to our business partners. Even though Dad doesn't vocalize his pride as he loves me just as I am, I can sense his approval whenever I engage in professional conversations with his associates.
Maa, Dadi, and my other cousins have all teased me, suggesting that aliens must have abducted me and even the usually cold Agam Bhai smiled when I introduced myself to the guests. This is the feeling I think I've been missing for years, and if it comes with the price of classes, then I don't hate it as much.
"Maharani ji, get up and get ready. It's the Sangeet tonight. Are you not going to prepare?" Maa called out, rummaging through my closet for the perfect outfit.
"Maa, please pick the most stunning outfit. I haven't practised for the dance even a little, so I'll try to distract everyone by looking the best," I said, securing my bun in the mirror and gathering my hair and body essentials.
"You don't need a new outfit to distract people. Just yap like you always do," a voice interrupted, startling me. I turned to see the bratty boy leaning against the door in a sky-blue sherwani that perfectly highlighted his porcelain skin, with Dadi by his side. She giggled at his comment, which was a rare sight. Dadi is never one to openly show her amusement. If anyone were to win the title of the most intelligent and composed Rathore, it would be her.
She's usually reserved even around family, but today she seemed as carefree as she is during our family golf tournaments.
"Dadi, not you too," I whined, pouting and hugging Maa, who had returned with a large bag and a few bangles on top.
"I'll not spare you if the bangles break," her voice rose an octave, signaling me that I might've tilted the bag.
"Got you," bratty boy said, rescuing us—mostly me—from a family disaster, and took the bag from Maa to place it on the bed.
"Thanks, beta, you've been helping us a lot lately," Maa said gratefully. It hit me like a ton of bricks why he was here at ten in the morning. What is he doing in my house?
"You can always thank me more with the tasty breakfast you made today. I swear, Aunty, I've never had a fruit salad that tasty," he complimented.
"Why are you here for breakfast? Isn't it already available at our hotels? And does your school permit you to wander around like this?" I bombarded him with questions, struggling with the image of him blending into my family.
