Arya P.O.V.

The weight of the world seems to have turned into a personal trainer today, squatting on my shoulders like it's preparing me for the "Burdens of Life" championship. It's like a relentless reminder that beauty is the unsung hero of this place, forever waiting for its acceptance speech. And here I am, a walking masterpiece, buried under an avalanche of assignments. Seriously, did they have a meeting and decide, "Let's give the beautiful girl all the homework"? As if that wasn't enough, I've become a one-woman show: collecting books, completing projects, and submitting them solo. It's 5 pm, and I drag myself home like I've just survived a boot camp for the exceptionally gorgeous.

I open the door with all the enthusiasm of a sleepy sloth, attempting to announce my grand entrance to my mom, but my words bail on me mid-sentence, like "nope, not today."

"Who's throwing a pity party?" A familiar snicker slices through the air.

Not again. Will she ever take a vacation from tormenting me? I swing my gaze towards the source, and there's my older sister, Meghna, treating the couch like a throne while wearing a grin that says she's the reigning queen of comedy. Her teeth are so bright, I'd use them as a flashlight in a power outage. Her long black hair looks like it's auditioning for a shampoo commercial, swaying like it's in a music video. Oh, and her brown eyes? They're twinkle lights of mischief. Meghna, the college guru who treats attending classes like a distant relative's wedding—occasionally. She's been on a mission to turn our couch into a pancake. What could be so hilarious? My hands are practically begging for a massage, and her laughter's like a bonus round in a stress Olympics.

"Oh, I knew you'd bring your stand-up routine. Bless your heart," I grumble, giving my hair a frustrated ruffle.

She giggles with the audacity of a squirrel raiding a bird feeder.

"What's cracking you up?" I ask, aiming for nonchalance but probably sounding like an annoyed parrot.

"Your face. It needs a makeover," she laughs, her mocking tone making her sound like the head designer of "Insults R Us."

Yeah, sure thing. I decide to RSVP to her comment with my best "ignore" response.

"How was your day?" My mom spreads her arms for a warm hug, like she's running a free emotional spa.

"Exhausting, as usual," I pout, diving into her embrace like I'm seeking refuge from the chaos of my life.

"Complaints, as constant as gravity, Miss Rotadu," Meghna glances at me, her brown eyes throwing a party of amusement, and starts laughing again. Why does she find joy in poking the sleeping bear? I'm too tired to join the circus, but she's like the ringmaster with an unlimited supply of popcorn. Why is she calling me "Miss Rotadu" anyway? I'm not some kind of sobbing superhero; I'm just someone who happens to have her moments of elegance. How about "Miss Elegance" instead?

"Excuse me, Miss Rotadu? I believe you meant to address me as Miss Universe," I retort, letting my voice take on a hint of mock-seriousness.

"Oh, the universe of delusion you're living in! Even a ghost at a stand-up comedy night would get more attention than you. You're like a makeup store exploded in a Disney movie!" She sticks her tongue out, savoring her attempt at making me laugh-snort.

Hold on a second, what's with all these nicknames? And seriously, who comes up with this stuff?

"Yeah, keep the material coming. Your eyes need to attend an improv class," I shoot back, refusing to let her comic critique of my appearance deflate my inflatable ego. After all, I know I'm a masterpiece. I don't need her thumbs-up or thumbs-down ratings.

"Hey Mom, guess what? A new guy magically appeared in our class today," I declare, hoping to divert the conversation away from Meghna's unrelenting teasing, and perhaps find a fresh subject to bond over.

"A new student mid-semester? That's intriguing," Meghna chimes in, her interest clearly piqued.

"Oh, Miss Nosy wants the scoop," I jest, sticking my tongue out like a mischievous five-year-old.

"Nosy? How dare you?" Meghna dramatically gasps, dramatically clapping a hand to her heart.

"Hey, you started it with the whole 'Miss Rotadu' thing, not to mention the makeup shop comparison," I defend myself, quickly taking cover behind my mom for protection.

"Don't drag me into this," my mom pleads, already sounding worn out.

"You should tell her to stop first," Meghna retorts, dramatically plopping back onto the sofa and engrossing herself in the TV news.

Sure, she wants me to stop, but has she ever refrained from critiquing my countless projects when she waltzes in from school after churning out 30 pages of her own work? The nerve! And look at her, engrossed in the news while well aware it's my turn for the TV. Doesn't she understand that I enjoy having my meals while watching something entertaining? No, she understands fully, and that's precisely why she does this. She's a professional provocateur.

Today, the remote control will be mine. I have feelings too, and I am an equal member of this household; I have rights, darn it! I'm going to watch whatever I please.

"Mom, my stomach's rumbling," I announce with a dramatic flair, marching towards the sofa.

"Can't you change your clothes first?" Mom calls from the kitchen.

"Nope, food first," I assert confidently.

"Just give me two minutes," mom's voice floats back.

"I need to catch my show on TV," I declare, strategically positioning myself nearby.

"And?" she raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips as she increases the TV volume.

"So? Hand over the remote," I demand, attempting to swipe it from her hand, but she dexterously keeps it away.

"In your dreams," she counters playfully, teasing me with the remote.

"Give it here, You a-" I shout, making another grab for it, but she effortlessly evades my attempt. Then she calls out, "Mom, did you hear what she's saying?"

But mom remains nonchalant, possibly pretending not to hear.

"You always do this," I give up, my hunger overtaking my craving for control. I make my way to the dining table, because honestly, news isn't really my cup of tea. What do I gain from knowing the intricate details of politicians' Twitter wars or which celebrity wore what to some party?

I sit down, put on my earphones, and start scrolling through the app to find my beloved BL drama. I'm a fervent BL enthusiast, but nobody in my family has any inkling about this peculiar interest of mine. I hail from a conventional, tradition-bound family, where the looming fear of "What Will People Think?" tends to reign supreme. So, my unique passion remains tucked away.

Mom serves my plate and offers it to me, teasing, "If you're done devouring your phone, have some real food too."

"You know, I was half-expecting you to tease me about my phone sooner," I reply, clicking on the drama episode and tuning her out.

"Well, you've left no room for my taunts, and if there's any space left in your stomach, you better make room for this as well," she giggles, moving the plate closer and giving my head an affectionate pat.

"Arya, come here right now! I've got something to show you," Meghna's voice pierces through the air.

"What is it?" I hastily remove my earphones, intrigued by her urgency.

"I need you to see something. Quick!" she insists, grabbing my attention.

I swiftly take a gulp of water and rush over to her, asking, "What's going on?"

"See, my throat is as parched as the Sahara. Can you spare some water, kind soul?" She takes the glass from my hand, while mom chuckles and heads to the kitchen.

"Seriously? Can't you tell I was eating? Can't I even enjoy a peaceful meal in this house anymore..."

She interrupts my protest by drinking the water, then dismissively states, "Thanks, now shoo."

"Unbelievable," I mumble as I return to the dining table. But just as I sit down, the doorbell rings. I shoot a look at my sister, and she responds with a look that clearly instructs me to answer the door.

"No way!" I protest.

"Absolutely," she grins, "If you know it's your job to get the door, why the dramatics?"

"One of these days, I'm going to snap," I thump my hand on the table and begrudgingly march towards the door.

"Did you just threaten to murder someone?" Meghna widens her eyes.

"Yes, I did. I threatened to murder you!" I emphasize each word while pulling the door open. Why should I be afraid of her?

"Could you kindly open the door if you're finished discussing your murderous plans?" I hear a stern voice from the other side.

The voice sends a jolt through me, and my eyes instinctively dart to Meghna. She signals, wordlessly inquiring about the visitor. I mouth the words "It's Dad," to her. In response, she quickly shuts off the TV and hurries towards the kitchen. I swiftly swing the door open. As Dad enters, he immediately starts removing his shoes. My gaze darts over to the dining table, where my phone lies next to my earphones. Oh no, Dad will head straight for the table to get himself a glass of water. What if he spots it? I'll be in colossal trouble. Dad already disapproves of so many things I do, and if he discovers that his daughter has an unconventional penchant for watching romantic scenes between boys, he'll definitely blow a fuse. He might even contemplate kicking me out of the house. How on earth will I survive on the streets, looking as stunning as I do? No, Arya, you've got to think fast.

"So, who were you plotting to assassinate?" Dad inquires, as I attempt to navigate my way towards the table while closing the door behind him.

"Oh, just some harmless banter, haha..."

As my eyes flick towards the kitchen, I catch Meghna peering out. She could save me from this predicament. I signal for her to grab my phone, but she seems oblivious.

"Meghna di, your phone is right by the water jug," I exclaim.

"It's your phone, not mine," she responds from the kitchen. Why does she have to be so clueless? Dad shifts his attention to me, shooting me an odd look. Uh-oh, I'm in the hot seat now. Farewell, Arya, you were never truly cherished.

"Di, it's your phone," I emphasize, "You were eating, and then your friend Rakhi called you. Remember, I handed you the phone?"

Dad doesn't appear too invested in my explanation and proceeds towards the water jug. I fold my hands together, beseeching my sister. Oh heavens, in this episode, Ae and Pete have a heartwarming moment in the locker room. I adore that scene, but today, I'm fervently hoping that Ae keeps his emotions in check for the sake of my dad's impression.

Dad inches closer to the table, and I'm nearly about to shout, "Dad!"

He whips around to face me, an expression of shock on his face. Meghna seems to grasp the urgency and dashes towards the table, snatching the phone just in time. I breathe a massive sigh of relief, but Dad questions me again, "Why did you scream like that? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing, just excited to see you home," I laugh nervously.

"Ah, I see. So, my ghost was on the door earlier?" he shakes his head in disbelief.

"Dad, you can ignore her; she's got a touch of the crazy," Meghna fills a glass with water, "Here, have some."

Dad chuckles, taking the glass from her and turning his attention back to me, teasing, "See, learn a thing or two from your sister. This is how children should greet their dad when he comes home—without all the shouting and screaming."

"Yeah, you've always wished I'd be just like her. You don't even like my jeans and tops; you keep advocating for those traditional suits. You're all about how I should be more refined and emulate her. But Dad, every person has their own unique personality. What would the world be like if we all had the same personality? You adore your little princess and her composed demeanor (well, at least in front of others). And I happen to love myself just the way I am." I mutter under my breath.

"What's that you're mumbling?" Dad inquires, placing the glass on the table.

"Nothing," I can only mutter. If I dared to say these words aloud, he'd probably ship me off to the streets, saying, "Go beg since it aligns with your personality!" The thought amuses me, and I chuckle softly.

"Why are you laughing?" Meghna questions, passing me the glass, "Head to the kitchen and do some dishes, will you?"

Do some dishes? That role suits her far better. I've been busy since the crack of dawn, while this supposed princess didn't even bother attending college. Were younger siblings brought into the world just to serve as household minions? Who came up with these rules? I demand justice, your highness!

"What? Me? No way," I protest, but she lifts the phone up, displaying a scene where Ae begins to unbutton Pete's shirt, "Were you saying something?"

"No, why would I be saying anything?" I nervously laugh. Oh boy, I should be celebrating the moment when the main characters finally confess their feelings, but my sister has to go and ruin it all! Blackmailing and sabotaging their romantic scene. Someday, I'll find a way to get back at her. Meanwhile, #FeelingLikeAMaid with no one else. Off to the kitchen, I guess! She's utterly ruthless, forever discovering ways to tease this adorable, stunning, and utterly innocent girl who's now stuck washing a mountain of dishes.

After washing all the dishes, I step out only to find my "sanskari" (cultured) sister, Meghana, serving food to Dad with an affectionate smile on her face. Dad seems utterly delighted, sporting a wide grin.

"Papa, would you like some more?" she inquires, but he declines with a smile. Ah, yes, this perfect darling of a daughter didn't let me have a peaceful meal; she made sure I washed all the dishes. One day, I'll figure out a way to get back at her for all these little deeds!

"Faker!" I murmur under my breath as I walk past her. She shoots me a glare and smirks, clearly reveling in the sight of me in my damp shirt, looking rather miserable.

I grab my bag and head towards my room, thinking, "What a draining day. I'm definitely taking a nap first and then..." I swing the door shut and turn to face my bed, but what the heck? Seriously? Has an earthquake struck?

Why did she feel the need to use my bed as her storage space when she has her own perfectly good bed just steps away in the same room? Yes, I know we share the room, but our beds are separate entities. Hers is all neat and tidy, just two strides away, while mine is...ugh.

My bed appears to have turned into a battleground for books, pens, and papers. It's like they decided to wage World War III on my mattress. I'm so fed up with the sight of books everywhere.

"Di, what is this mess?" I exclaim.

"What?" her voice drifts in from the living room.

"Why did you scatter your books all over my bed?"

"Did I?" she feigns innocence.

"No, of course not. Why would you do that? It must have been me, the crazy one, who decided to launch a book-throwing party on my bed, right?" I'm practically seething now.

"Fine, then why are you even asking? Just tidy up the bed. I don't want mess in the room." She laughs.

"I knew you wouldn't admit it," I sigh in exasperation.

Oh, why, oh why, did you have to make me the younger one, God? Just for a single day, switch the roles and let me be the elder one; I'll teach her a lesson she won't forget.

But first, I have to deal with this chaos. I begin to straighten out the bed while muttering a series of curses directed at her. If only I had some sort of power to control her actions, so she could experience my current frustration. I grab her notes and slam them onto her table, stacking them in a corner of the room. Her table is a considerable distance from my bed, so I start tossing her notebooks from my bed to hers. Unfortunately, as the pile of books grows on her table, they begin to wobble and tumble to the floor.

Ahhhhh! My attempt at laziness has turned into a full-blown labor session. I gather her fallen books and restack them on her table, but some loose sheets of paper escape my grasp and flutter to the ground. With a groan, I crouch down to pick them up. Amidst the scattered papers, my eyes land on a red card lying on the floor.

I pick it up, and... Oh, wait. Okay, okay. She's my sister, and I didn't even know about this. Shame on me!

But that innocent facade of hers conceals a knack for keeping secrets! Well, well, well, isn't this interesting! If she's capable of maintaining such a covert operation, I can only imagine what kind of retribution she might have in store. But if she wants this to stay hush-hush, I can already foresee her cleaning the floor, serving me meals, fetching me water on demand, taking care of my dirty dishes and laundry—basically everything she usually makes me do. Uff... that would be an absolute blast!

Meghana, brace yourself! I'm gearing up to sport an evil grin.