BOOK 1 OF THE UNEXPECTED SERIES
In a world where tradition clashes with modernity, Vaidehi is a modern-day princess bound by society's rigid expectations.
Saransh, a brooding prince with a shadowed past, one he's not keen to reveal. Despite his nobl...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I step out of Dr. Sen's office and take a deep breath, letting the crisp air fill my lungs. For the first time in years, I feel good—mentally good.
Recovering from my eating disorder has been the hardest journey of my life, one I never thought I could navigate. It all began with my mother's constant taunts. Her words, "Who will marry a fat girl like you?" played on repeat in my mind until they became my personal anthem of inadequacy.
If you haven't guessed already, I was chubby as a child—10 or 11 years old, carefree and unaware of how much my body shape mattered to her. But after years of devouring her taunts for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I developed an unhealthy obsession with my weight.
My mother had her own obsession, too. She banned the maids from cooking anything I liked and strictly enforced scheduled diet plans. No sweets, no street food—my ultimate comfort. She took away the things that made me happy and replaced them with calorie charts and lectures.
When I turned 13, the pressure became unbearable. So, I stopped eating altogether. Sometimes I skipped dinner; other times, I skipped breakfast or lunch. On some days, I survived on nothing but water. If I did eat, guilt consumed me, and I'd force myself to throw it up. The idea of letting myself indulge, even a little, terrified me. I thought gaining weight would make me unworthy again.
Oddly enough, my mother never questioned my eating habits. She was just thrilled I was losing weight rapidly.
Everything changed when I was 17. That was when Yuhaan Bhaiya came back from abroad. He noticed things—how frail I looked, the dark circles under my eyes, the way I avoided food like it was poison. Yuvaan, my younger brother, had also matured by then. One day, he caught me throwing up in the bathroom.
That's how I ended up here—sitting in Dr. Sen's office every Saturday morning for therapy. At first, I resisted. I didn't want to talk about the mess in my head, didn't want to acknowledge that my eating habits were killing me. But seeing the worry in my brothers' eyes made me give in.
And now, here I am, stepping into the sunlight after a therapy session that feels like a small victory. Today, for the first time in eight years, I ate an entire chocolate bar. It took me two hours to finish it, nibbling slowly as I talked to Dr. Sen, but I didn't feel guilty. Not once.
For me, that's huge.
I sat in my car, clapped my hands together in excitement, and told the driver uncle, "Take me to a beautiful cafe!" This moment felt worth celebrating, even if I wasn't ready to eat an entire slice of cake myself. My brothers could enjoy it, and I'd enjoy the gesture.
Soon enough, we pulled up to the cafe Yuvaan had raved about—the one he said had the best cakes in town. I stepped out of the car and rushed inside, instantly greeted by the sweet, comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
The place was a vision. White walls adorned with delicate flowers gave it an ethereal, aesthetic charm. It was the kind of place you'd want to spend hours in, lost in conversation or a good book.
