Author's pov

The Girl Who Still Believes in Fairytales

If Arjun Singh Rathore was the storm…

Roohi Sharma was sunlight after rain.

Twenty-one. A fashion design student. A girl with messy buns, kajal-lined eyes, and a heart too soft for this practical world. She believed in love stories, handwritten letters, and the idea that someday someone would look at her like she was magic.

Roohi was a little clumsy. She dropped things. She tripped over flat floors. She forgot her own assignments sometimes.

But she never forgot people.

Her world revolved around her family — her father, a respected CBI officer; her elder brother Rudra, an IAS officer; and her mother Komal, a homemaker who ran the house like a queen with silent authority.

And then there were her best friends — Preeti and Kriti. Her chaos partners. Her unpaid therapists. Her fashion show audience. Her constant support system.

Roohi had one insecurity though.

She was very lean.

Too lean — according to people.

Relatives would whisper. Random aunties would comment. “Kitni patli hai.” (She is so thin.)

Sometimes she would stand in front of the mirror and sigh.

But her family never let her feel less.

Her father never even called her by her name.

Only one word.

“Princess.”

A Typical Morning in the Sharma House

“ROOHI!”

Komal Sharma’s voice echoed through the house.

It was 8:15 AM.

Her college started at 8:30.

And Roohi was still asleep.

Inside her pastel-themed room, she was tangled in her blanket, hair spread everywhere, phone under her pillow, alarm snoozed five times.

Komal stormed in and pulled the curtain aside.

Sunlight attacked Roohi’s face.

“Utho! Roz late hoti ho tum!” (Wake up! You’re late every day!)

Roohi groaned and pulled the blanket over her head. “Five minutes, Mumma…”

“Five minutes se fashion designer nahi bante!” (You don’t become a fashion designer in five minutes!)

Downstairs, her father folded his newspaper calmly, hiding a smile.

“Komal,” he called out, “don’t shout at my princess so early in the morning.”

Komal appeared at the stairs, hands on hips. “Aap hi bigaad rahe ho ise.” (You are the one spoiling her.)

Her father stood up dramatically. “CBI officer ki beti ho tum. Late hona allowed hai.” (You’re a CBI officer’s daughter. Being late is allowed.)

Roohi finally rushed downstairs, half-ready, bag open, sketchbook sticking out, one earring missing.

“Papa!” she ran to him and hugged him quickly. “You’re the best.”

He kissed her forehead. “Always.”

Komal glared but couldn’t hide her smile. “At least eat something!”

Roohi grabbed a toast, almost dropped it, caught it mid-air, and ran out.

“Bye Mumma! Bye Papa! Love you!”

Her father shook his head proudly. “One day she’ll rule the fashion world.”

Outside College

Preeti and Kriti were already waiting near the gate.

Preeti crossed her arms. “Madam finally arrived.”

Kriti looked at her up and down dramatically. “Hair messy. Kajal smudged. Classic Roohi.”

Roohi pouted. “My mom tried to murder me this morning.”

Preeti laughed. “Again late?”

Roohi nodded. “But Papa saved me.”

Kriti placed her arm around her. “Of course he did. You’re his ‘Princess.’”

Roohi smiled softly.

Sometimes she worried about her lean body when she stood beside her friends. Sometimes comments echoed in her head.

But then Preeti would say, “You have model body, idiot.”

And Kriti would add, “And designer brain.”

And just like that, her insecurity would shrink.

As they walked inside college, Roohi looked at the sky for a second.

She didn’t know that somewhere in the same city, a man existed who didn’t believe in fairytales.

She didn’t know her sunshine would one day collide with a storm.

For now, she was just Roohi Sharma —

A CBI officer’s princess.

An IAS officer’s little sister.

A mother’s headache.

A friend’s happiness.

A girl who still believed love stories were real.

And maybe…

She was about to become someone’s unexpected weakness.

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See you next chapter