At every turn in life, something hides... and sometimes we keep searching for it
🌷
Aradhya wasn't born with a silver spoon or royal blood in her veins.
She was just a girl with fire in her soul, raised in the warmth of a small home and the simplicity of life's little joys.
She wasn't the kind of girl people expected to change their fate, but deep down, she always knew that one day, someone would look past her stubborn pride, her loud words, and her ordinary world
and love her for everything she was, not everything she lacked."
Aradhya Pov
The ceiling fan above me spun slowly, making more noise than wind, but I didn't mind.
I was stretched across my bed like a lazy cat, one earphone in, one leg hanging off the edge, and my thumb mindlessly scrolling through Instagram reels. Peace was a rare thing in this house. And it never lasted long.
"Ardhaya! Jaldi neeche aao!"
("Ardhaya! Come downstairs quickly!")
Maa's voice pierced through the music in my ears.
I ignored it. Obviously.
"Ardhayaaa! Aayi kya?"
("Are you coming or not?")
Ugh. There it was again-the final warning. I groaned, paused my music, and rolled off the bed with all the enthusiasm of a sloth.
"Yahan toh chain se sochna bhi allowed nahi..." I muttered, making my way to the living room. Our house wasn't anything big-just enough to fit four people, two old sofas, and maa's million expectations.
She was sitting on the sofa like she'd just uncovered a hidden treasure. I flopped beside her, raising an eyebrow.
"Haan bolo, mummy. Kya hua?"
("Yeah, tell me, mom. What happened?")
She didn't answer. Instead, she picked up her phone, opened a WhatsApp chat, and held it up to my face.
"Dekho, Leena aunty ne ladke ka photo bheja hai. Rishta hai. Pasand aaye toh baat aage badhayenge."
("Look, Leena aunty sent a boy's picture. It's a proposal. If you like him, we'll take it forward.")
I sat up straighter, suddenly curious. She handed me the phone, and the moment I saw the photo-I froze.
"Ye kya hai?" I asked, blinking.
("What is this?")
"Ladka hai."
("The boy.")
I looked again, zoomed in. Honestly, I was trying to find the ladka part in the photo.
"Maa, ye ladka kam... ladkon ka baap zyada lag raha hai!"
("Mom, he looks less like a boy... more like the father of all boys!")
Maa gave me that don't-you-dare-roll-your-eyes look.
"Achha ghar hai. Gaadi hai. Business sambhalta hai."
("He has a good family. Owns a car. Handles his business.")
I stared at her. "Mujhe dulha chahiye, mummy... expired license nahi."
("I want a groom, not an expired license.")
She tried to hide her laugh but I caught it. Smiling, I tossed the phone back into her lap and leaned my head on the sofa.
"Leena aunty se kehna next time rishta bhejne se pehle ladke ki age bhi mention karein. Taaki samajh aayega dulha chahiye ya retirement plan."
("Tell Leena aunty next time to also mention the boy's age. So I know if I'm getting a groom or a retirement plan.")
She shook her head at me, but the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her amusement.
That was my life-matchmaking Sundays, emotional blackmail Mondays, and nosy aunties the rest of the week. I didn't hate it. But I didn't belong in it either.
I didn't know it then, but my real story hadn't even begun. It wouldn't come wrapped in a rishta photo.
I sighed, pulling the dupatta off my shoulder and standing up from the sofa. Mummy was still mumbling something under her breath as she stared at the photo in her hand like it held her life's biggest disappointment.
"Ye kya hai? Har ladka aise hi reject karti rahegi kya? 23 saal ki ho gayi ho!"
("What is this? Will you keep rejecting every guy like this? You're 23 now!")
I crossed my arms, voice calm but eyes playful. "Maa, I know... but the guy should at least look like a guy."
"Ye aadmi hai."
("He is a man.")
I made a face. "Exactly, maa! Aadmi. Not a ladka. (Exactly, maa! A man. Not a boy.) He looks like he could be someone's father!"
"Ardhaya, aise hi jaane kitne rishte photo par hi cancel kar diye tune!"
("Ardhaya, you've rejected so many proposals just by looking at their photos!")
I flopped back down beside her and rested my head lightly on her shoulder. "Maa, I promise... don't stress. Ek din koi rajkumar aayega... jo mujhse byah kar le jaayega."
(One day, a prince will come... and he'll marry me.)
She scoffed and tapped me lightly on the head.
"Rajkumar ko tujh jaisi muhfatt ladki milegi toh woh bhi bhaag jaayega!"
(If a prince finds a loudmouth like you, even he will run away!)
I grinned. "Maa, jo mujhe pyaar karega, woh bhaagega nahi... woh duniya se ladega mere liye."
(He won't run away... he'll fight the world for me.)
She laughed, shaking her head, and got up muttering something about making chai.
I sat there, my fingers playing with the photo she had tossed on the table.
🌷
The sun had dipped just enough to leave behind trails of gold in the sky, and I clutched the end of my dupatta, tucking it over my shoulder as I stepped out of the gate.
"Maa, main mandir ja rahi hoon!" I called out, not waiting for a response. (Maa, I'm going to the temple!)
There was peace in the air-a kind of stillness that only evenings in small towns carry. The streets were half-empty, and the smell of incense from roadside stalls made everything feel calm... familiar.
I was halfway down the slope leading to the temple steps when I noticed a woman-elderly, fragile, dressed in heavy silks that screamed old money. She was trying to cross the narrow road, her walking stick slipping slightly on the uneven pavement.
And then I saw it.
A speeding car turning recklessly into the lane.
My heart skipped a beat.
"Daadi!" I shouted
I grabbed her arm just in time and pulled her toward me, the car swerving past us with a screech. The old woman stumbled slightly, her bangles clinking, and I held her steady, one hand on her back.
"Careful! You could've been hurt," I said, breathless.
She looked up at me-eyes sharp,
"Beta, aaj tune meri jaan bacha li..."
(Child, today you saved my life...)
I smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "Aap jaise log mandir jaane se pehle kuch karte nahi... par bhagwan se milne jaane wale log rasta bhi bacha lete hain."
(You may not do anything before going to the temple, but people on their way to God... end up saving paths too.)
She chuckled,
"Tumhara naam kya hai, beti?" she asked,
"Ardhaya. Ardhaya Nair."
She smiled like she already knew that name.
"Well, Ardhaya Nair... I owe you something now."
Before I could argue, a man in a white uniform came running down the stairs. "Rajmata ji! Aap theek hain?"
(Royal Mother! Are you alright?)
Rajmata...?
Wait. Did he just say... Rajmata?
My eyes flicked back to her, suddenly realizing who she might be.
She turned back to me and softly said,
"Tumse milke achha laga, Ardhaya. Dil saaf hai tumhara. Bhagwan sab dekhte hain."
(It was lovely meeting you, Ardhaya. You have a pure heart. God sees everything.)
Then she gently touched my head in blessing and added with a mysterious smile,
"Phir milenge... ya shayad takraenge."
(We'll meet again... or maybe collide.)
And before I could say anything, she was gone.
I stood there, confused Rajmata? As in... actual royalty?
But there was no time to dwell. I walked into the temple, adjusted my dupatta over my head, and slipped off my sandals. The scent of ghee, flowers, and sandalwood embraced me like home.
The line was long-devotees murmuring prayers, the bells ringing in rhythm with faith.
I joined the line, hands folded, heart quiet.
But then I saw her.
The same old woman I just helped... stepping into the sanctum through the VIP entrance.
The priests bowed. The aarti stopped for her. The entire temple paused.
She was now draped in elegance, diamonds sparkling at her ears, the red bindi on her forehead shining like fire. Power walked beside her, even in silence.
I watched her, stunned. She folded her hands, whispered a prayer, and turned back.
Our eyes met for a second.
She didn't say a word.
Just that same smile... like she knew something I didn't.
And then she disappeared again-this time, into a world I had never even imagined touching.
The aarti flames were still glowing in my heart when I returned home, dupatta slightly slipping from my head, feet dusty but soul lighter.
As I stepped inside, the atmosphere felt off.
Voices.
I paused.
In the living room, Leena aunty sat comfortably, her hands moving expressively, and Maa was nodding in half-agreement.
"Acha hua tum aa gayi beta!" Leena aunty turned to me with a wide smile.
(Good that you're here, dear!)
"Yeh dekho... yeh ladka." She held out her phone like it was some divine revelation.
And there he was.
The same guy Maa showed me earlier. The same too-much-moustache, zero-expression, looks-ten-years-older man.
"Aunty, yeh kahaan se ladka lag raha hai aapko?" I raised an eyebrow. "Seedha seedha kaho, aadmi ka rishta hai.".
(Aunty, how does this even look like a boy to you? Just say it clearly-this is a proposal from a grown man, not a boy.)
Her eyes narrowed. Maa shot me a glare.
"Aradhya!" she warned, voice sharp.
But Leena aunty only smiled coldly and said,
"Koi baat nahi beta... tumhari umar mein main bhi ladkon ko reject karti thi. Har kisi mein kami dhoondti thi. Par jab umar nikal jaati hai na... tab koi nahi aata byahne."
(It's okay, dear. I also rejected many boys at your age. Always found faults. But when age passes, no one comes to marry you. Remember that.)
She got up, smoothed her saree, and added with a sharp softness,
"Apni beti samajh kar samjha rahi hoon."
(I'm advising you like my own daughter.)
Then she left.
The door clicked behind her and silence screamed.
"Maa," I started, "yeh kya tha? Aise kaise kisi ko ghar le aati ho aap bina bataye?"
(Maa, what was that? How can you bring someone home like that without even telling me?)
She stood, anger simmering just beneath her skin. "Aru...!" she began.
But I cut in, my voice steady. "Maa, maine kya galat kaha?"
(What did I say wrong?)
Then quieter, firmer, "Aur yeh Leena aunty... hum jaante kitna hai unhe? Sirf teen mahine hue iss sheher mein aaye. Itni jaldi kisi par bharosa karna sahi nahi hai."
(And this Leena aunty... how well do we even know her? We've only been in this city for three months. Trusting someone this fast-it's not right.)
Maa looked at me like she wanted to say something but didn't.
She sighed instead.
"I can't believe this, Maa," I said, voice trembling-not with fear, but frustration. "Samjho... aise hi chacha-chachi par khud se zyada bharosa kiya tha aapne. Kya kiya unhone?"
(Understand this... you once trusted chacha-chachi more than your own family. And what did they do?)
"They tricked us. Saari zameen, jaydaad, sab jhooth bolkar apne naam karwa li... aur humein nikaal diya. Inki wajah se sheher badla... aur iss chhote se ghar mein aake rehna pada. Bhool gayi aap?"
(They stole everything-our land, our home-signed everything over in lies, threw us out. We had to change cities and settle here in this cramped house. Did you forget?)
Maa's eyes welled up-but instead of softening, she snapped.
"Aru!" she shouted, anger masking her pain. "Shaadi na karne ke liye aur bahana mat bana! Sab samajhti hoon main!"
(Don't make this another excuse to avoid marriage! I understand everything!)
"Maa..." I whispered, but she had already turned away.
Just then, the front door creaked open.
Papa walked in, his shirt clinging with sweat, exhaustion written all over his face. "Kis baat ki behas ho rahi hai yahan?"
(What's this argument about?)
Maa pointed toward me, her voice sharp. "Samjha lo apni beti ko! Aise hi har rishta reject karegi toh umar nikal jayegi. Ghar baithani padegi phir."
(Talk to your daughter! If she keeps rejecting proposals like this, she'll pass the age... and we'll be forced to keep her at home.)
She stormed off to the kitchen, muttering under her breath.
Papa looked at me. His eyes-tired, but warm.
I didn't wait. "Papa," I said, "yeh ladka nahi... aadmi ka rishta hai. Aur ab kehte hain 'haan' kar do?"
(Papa, this isn't a boy's proposal-it's from a man. And now they expect me to say yes?)
He didn't scold. He didn't rush.
He simply walked closer, smiled softly, and placed a hand on my head.
"Koi nahi..." he said gently. "Main samjha dunga. Tu ja, room mein aaram kar."
(It's alright... I'll explain everything. You go, rest in your room.)
And in that moment, I wanted to cry-not because I was weak, but because someone still heard me.
I walked into my room, closing the door behind me with a soft thud that echoed louder than it should have. Silence wrapped around me like a blanket-too warm, too heavy.
Maa isn't wrong...
She's just worried. Worried about my age, about my marriage, about what people will say if I keep rejecting proposals like some stubborn rebel.
She's not bad. Just tired of being judged.
And Papa...
Papa is too gentle for this world. He agrees to anything we say. Maybe because for him, me and my younger sister are his entire world. Our smiles, our silence, even our fears-he feels them all, without saying a word.
I sat on the edge of my bed, looking at the faint cracks in the wall. This house... this city... wasn't always ours.
We used to live in Ratanpur-a town that once echoed with my childhood laughter. And then...
Chacha and Chachi-our own blood-stabbed us with their sweetest smiles.
They took everything.
The land. The house. The memories.
Signed the papers behind Papa's back. Lied, manipulated... and left us with nothing but betrayal. I still remember Papa's eyes that day-no anger, just pure heartbreak.
After that, Maa never smiled the same way again. And Papa... stopped laughing altogether.
Since then, life has been all about "adjusting"-new city, smaller house, bigger burdens.
And now, here we are...
Trying to marry me off like some ticking clock is running out.
But how do I say yes to someone... when I've only seen love lose?
Thank you for reading The path ahead is uncertain,but stay tuned, for the best stories are yet to unfold.
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