Arya P.O.V.

The sound of approaching footsteps near the door startles me, and in a quick motion, I slip the card beneath my pillow. Meghana enters the room, balancing a plate of food. Oh, so the princess is hungry again? Meanwhile, I couldn't even manage to finish one chapati. I silently curse you, princess; if you dare to eat that food right in front of me, you'll definitely regret it!

Why is she coming my way now? "Um... here, have it," she offers me the plate while her attention is focused on something in her other hand. She seems engrossed in whatever is happening on her phone.

"Me?" I ask, skepticism lacing my voice.

"Well, considering it's just the two of us in this room, and I'm not keen on serving food to apparitions, I suppose that makes you the lucky recipient," she replies with a nonchalant tone.

Ah, she always has a snappy retort at the ready. Why must she taunt me like this?

"Why the sudden generosity?" I quip as I accept the plate.

"If you don't want it, I can gladly take it off your hands!" she tries to retract the plate playfully, but I grip onto it firmly.

"No, no, no, I want it, and I'm going to eat it," I quickly assert, yanking the plate away from her reach.

"Good!" she says, returning to her own bed, which is just a couple of steps away from mine.

How on earth did she just decide to extend an olive branch? Should I ask her about it? No, first things first, I need to finish my meal; who knows if this will be a one-time occurrence or not. I'm still processing the fact that she actually offered me food! Normally, she's an expert at taking things away from me, but to actually give something back, that's just bizarre. There has to be something behind it! I turn my focus to the plate in my hands and start eating. At intervals, I sneak glances in her direction, noticing that she's texting someone with an enormous grin on her face-and I'm pretty sure I know exactly who that someone is.

After I've polished off the food, I muster the courage to ask her, "Could you enlighten me on what prompted you to be so kind?"

"What do you mean?" she inquires, her gaze still locked onto her phone screen.

"I mean, you handed me this plate, even though you were the reason I couldn't finish my lunch earlier."

She regards me with a puzzled expression, "You took that seriously, silly? I was just pulling your leg. It's not like I hate you or anything, and if I can't tease you, then who can I tease? I rib you because I enjoy watching your face turn all shades of red," she confesses, smiling, before returning her attention to her phone.

Her words manage to melt my heart, and I can feel my cheeks turning a shade pinker. It's these moments that make me cherish the unique bond we share as sisters.

"You recall that time I convinced Dad to pick you up from a dustbin? And you think I'm the mean one?" she chimes in, giggling.

Oh no, not that story again. I'm not a child anymore. Back when I was younger, she used to spin a tale about Dad finding me in a dustbin, and she threatened to throw me back in if I didn't listen to her. Silly me, I actually believed her back then.

"Now, off you go and fetch me a glass of water," she instructs, effectively breaking the sentimental moment. This could very well be the essence of a true sisterly exchange!

"Sure thing, madam. Anything else?" I face her, forcing a smile, but she's so engrossed in her phone that she doesn't even notice.

Well, whatever. She's right, she doesn't hate me. But then again, it's a whole different story that she treats me like her personal servant. Back when I was younger, the other kids used to tease me because of my weight, and my sister would rush to my defense, dealing with each one of them. Oddly enough, the one who teased me the most was her!

I make my way to the kitchen, loading the dishwasher and embarking on dishwashing duty. Perhaps it's time to chat with Meghana about that card, or maybe I could use it as leverage for some teasing. This might be my one and only opportunity. But this isn't a trivial piece of news-my very own sister is in a relationship, and I was completely in the dark about it.

I make my way back to our room, holding a glass of water, and there sits Meghana on the bed. Her cheerful smile has vanished, and she looks visibly stressed. Approaching her, I offer the glass, saying, "Di."

"Put it there," she responds without even glancing at me.

What happened all of a sudden? She was completely fine just a moment ago. I suppose her "kindness for the day" quota has been exhausted. I place the glass on the nearby table and take a seat on my own bed, facing her. She appears to be grappling with some sort of stress or annoyance. The silence stretches between us, and I can't stand seeing her in this state.

"What's wrong?" I inquire, feeling a tinge of irritation.

"Nothing," she mutters, running her fingers through her hair while turning her face away.

I get it now. It's probably because of whatever she thinks she's keeping a secret from me, though I'm already privy to it. With a mischievous tone, I announce, "I've got the inside scoop on your secret, you know."

She swiftly turns to me, her eyes widening, yet she can't hold my gaze. Her lips flicker as she licks them nervously, and she stammers, "What secret?" There's a palpable undercurrent of anxiety in her demeanor.

"Perhaps... a card or something?" I remark with a playful grin. Oh my, I'm feeling like a villain right out of a TV show!

Almost immediately, she gets up, rummaging through her books with haste.

"Do you need help looking for something? I'm here to assist!" I offer, scooting closer to her.

She steps in my path, attempting to halt me. "No, don't trouble yourself. I'll locate it later." Oh, the sudden aversion to 'troubling' me. Funny, when she hands me her laundry to wash or sends me on errands for water, that sentiment isn't anywhere in sight. Come on now, she could easily share news of this mystery guy with her own sister. Why keep it shrouded in secrecy?

"It's really alright. You took care of me by giving me food, so it's only fair I help you out, di," I struggle to suppress a giggle at the sight of her pale face. Clearly, she underestimated my sleuthing skills with that card.

"I'm telling you, I just can't recall where I put that assignment. I'll remember sooner or later," she protests, once more attempting to dissuade me.

I press on, leafing through her books one by one, suggesting each one could be the elusive assignment she's seeking. However, she's quick to shake her head, furnishing reasons for me to halt my quest. Inside, I'm quietly chuckling at her predicament. Beads of sweat gather on her forehead, and her lips quiver nervously.

My attention shifts to her enigmatic backpack, which she rarely lets me touch. Looks like it's time for a bit of fun.

"Perhaps, you inadvertently tucked away that card-oh, I mean, assignment-inside your backpack," I casually suggest, reaching for her bag.

But she promptly lunges forward to grab it, exclaiming, "Exactly! You're right! It's definitely in my bag. No need to search any further."

"Really?" I raise an eyebrow playfully.

"Y-Yes, why would I lie?" she lets out a nervous laugh.

"Alright," I reply, leaping back onto my own bed.

I can hear her sigh of relief as she scans the room. She runs her fingers along her desk and lifts a couple of books, peering beneath them. She's still on a quest to find that love letter from her mystery admirer. However, I'm already fully aware of where it's stashed.

"So, did you manage to locate your assignment?" I tease. She nods and promptly zips up her bag before returning to her seat.

Why is she getting so flustered over that card? If I ever find myself in a relationship, I'd undoubtedly confide in her. Oh right, what she's doing is deemed quite taboo in our family. Our marriages are usually arranged, and she's our dad's darling. I wonder how Dad will react when he learns that his precious princess is deviating from the norm and dating someone. She's definitely going to be beyond his control. I gasp dramatically, adding a touch of theatrical flair to my thoughts.

My fingers slide beneath the pillow, coming into contact with something unexpected. It's time to unveil the truth.

Turning to look at my sister, who's lying on her bed, lost in her own thoughts, I clear my throat in a rather theatrical manner to capture her attention. But she remains fixed on the ceiling, unresponsive. Perhaps she's lost in reminiscing about the moment her boyfriend gave her that card. I decide to break the silence.

"Isn't it incredibly hot today?" I remark, using the card to fan myself, hoping to catch her eye.

"Hmm?" She finally turns her gaze towards me, only for her eyes to fall upon the card in my hands. Clearly taken aback, she falls off her bed and lands in the space between our two beds.

"What's that?" she queries, pointing at the card.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that question?" I counter with a playful grin.

"How would I know what it is?" She pretends to laugh.

"Still playing the innocent card, I see," I remark, shifting to kneel, "Well then, let's ask Dad. Maybe he can shed some light on it."

I make a move to stand up, but she swiftly seizes my hand, yanking me back down onto the bed. I remain seated while she stays on the floor.

"Why the rush? Let me finish," she clears her throat and licks her lips nervously, "This card... um, it belongs to my friend. She forgot her backpack that day, so I put it in my bag temporarily and forgot to give it back."

Such a flimsy excuse. Is she truly my sister? Sometimes I wonder if Dad really did find her in a dustbin. Who forgets to bring their backpack to college? However, she seems unaware that I'm quite astute. "Oh, so your friend also happens to be named Meghana?" I raise an eyebrow with a smirk, then open the card, revealing the words "I love you, Meghana."

She squeezes her eyes shut, a palpable sense of regret evident, and bites her lower lip. "What do you want?" she inquires, her voice laced with anxiety.

Ah, I wasn't exactly prepared for this question. "I don't know," I playfully tease, "Maybe I'll inform Dad that it's time to rein in his little angel's wings."

Expecting her to protest and put a halt to my playful threats, I prepare to rise from my spot on the floor. But to my surprise, she remains silent, not offering any resistance. I furrow my brow, puzzled by her uncharacteristic acquiescence. "Aren't you going to stop me?" I inquire cautiously.

Her voice barely above a whisper, she responds, "Will you stop?"

I'm taken aback by the vulnerability in her voice, a hint of sadness evident, as if she's wrestling with regret and teetering on the edge of tears. My heart clenches at the sight of her like this. I never intended for my teasing to cause her such distress; after all, she means more to me than anyone else. She's been my confidante, my partner-in-crime, and my source of endless laughter since before I even understood what those terms meant.

"Of course, I will, if my nosy sister wants me to," I assure her, settling onto the floor beside her. My hand finds its way to her shoulder, offering a comforting squeeze. She raises her teary gaze to meet mine, and without hesitation, she wraps her arms around me, pulling me into an unexpectedly tight hug. It's a moment that catches me off guard; I hadn't anticipated such raw emotion. What's gotten into her? It's just a boyfriend, isn't it? Why is she reacting like this? Could there be something more beneath the surface?

She clings to me as if seeking refuge from a storm. I'm momentarily stunned by the intensity of her embrace, but I quickly recover, my fingers tracing soothing circles on her back. "It's okay, dii, it's okay. I'm here for you, always. I'm not going anywhere," I reassure her gently. It's been so long since we've hugged like this, and it's as if I've been transported back to a time when such displays of affection were commonplace.

I remember that she's always been the one to motivate me, to encourage me when I'm down. So why is she so broken and fragile now? We remain locked in our embrace for a while, and I can feel my shoulder growing damp from her tears.

She eventually eases her grip, and we part slightly. I guide her to sit on the bed while I remain on the floor near her knees. "Dii, I won't share anything with anyone. You don't have to be scared," I assure her, squeezing her hands gently.

With a tissue in hand, she dabs at her eyes and takes a sip of water. Fear lingers in her gaze, her heart racing visibly. She remains like this for a moment, and more tears stream down her face. "Dii, what is it that you're so afraid of? I promise I won't betray your trust. Just try to relax; it pains me to see you like this." I rest my head on her lap, a gesture of comfort that feels strangely familiar.

After a pause, her voice trembles as she begins to speak, her words weighed down by contemplation and emotion. "I'm not afraid of you or of you sharing my secret, but I'm terrified of what the future holds. The moment when dad discovers the truth... I fear the disappointment in his eyes, the shattering of his trust. I can't bear the thought of causing him pain. And yet, despite all of this, it's also true that I love him-him, the guy I'm seeing. I love him so deeply that I can't imagine my life without him. I just can't." Her words flow, punctuated by sobs and hiccups, her face already wet with tears.

I'm at a loss, unsure how things have shifted so suddenly. I wanted to playfully tease her, and now she's pouring her heart out in tears. I yearn to comfort her, but mere words seem inadequate to soothe her anguish. Why does she assume that Dad won't approve? I know Dad can be stern, his emotions often concealed behind a façade of seriousness, but he's not heartless. He's a good father who's always supported our education, even if he does poke fun at my fashion choices and penchant for makeup.

"Dii, why do you believe that he won't understand or accept your relationship? You haven't even attempted to talk to him. How can you be so certain of his reaction? Everything will work out. You're not getting married right away, so there's time to navigate these complexities. Don't feel compelled to figure everything out at once. Just continue as you were. And remember, no matter what happens, I'm here for you. I'll stand by your side, always," I assure her, gripping her hands firmly.

She tries to muster a smile, but it falters, her lips quivering. "Nothing will be okay."

"Why do you say that?" I inquire, my heart aching for her. What lies beneath her tears and fears?

"Because..." Her gaze falls to the card she's holding, and she points to the name inscribed on it, "your love, Ahan khan."

My heart skips a beat. Ahan Khan? A Muslim guy?