At twenty-three, Saanjh Gupta stood on the threshold of adulthood with dreams bigger than the small town she had grown up in. Like any young woman her age, she carried hopes for the future, ambitions she refused to abandon, and a quiet determination to build a life entirely on her own terms.

Ever since she was born, she had been the source of immense happiness for everyone around her—or at least that was how her parents always described her. To them, she was nothing short of a miracle.

Her parents often called her their miracle baby. Her mother had faced severe complications during childbirth, and after Saanjh's birth, she was unable to conceive again despite nearly ten years of trying. As a result, every ounce of their love, dreams, and affection was poured into their only daughter. Growing up surrounded by so much love, Saanjh had never once felt deprived.

She had been blessed with the most loving parents anyone could ask for. They were her biggest supporters, always standing firmly by her side through every challenge life threw at her. Watching them together had shaped her understanding of love. Their marriage wasn't built on grand gestures but on countless selfless sacrifices, unwavering respect, and unconditional devotion to one another. No matter how difficult life became, they always chose each other.

Their love story made Saanjh believe that true love wasn't just something that existed in novels or movies—it was real. Someday, she hoped she would have a love story of her own.

Unlike many people her age who were still figuring out their future, Saanjh knew exactly what she wanted. She had always excelled academically and was determined to pursue a career in psychology after graduation. Living in a small town meant limited opportunities, so she planned to move to a bigger city to chase her dreams.

More specifically, she wanted to become a child psychologist.

She believed children were the foundation of society. Understanding their emotions, behavior, and thought processes could shape healthier individuals and, in turn, create a healthier world. It wasn't merely a profession to her—it was a purpose.

She had already imagined the life she wanted. First, she would build a successful career. Then, perhaps, somewhere along the journey, she would meet her prince charming. They would fall in love, build a home together, have a couple of children, and live the happily-ever-after she secretly believed in.

There was only one problem.

She wasn't what people considered the ideal princess.

At just five-foot-two, Saanjh had a short, curvy frame, cropped hair, and wore a size eighteen. Throughout her life, she'd heard the same sentence repeated in countless variations.

"You have such a pretty face. If only you lost some weight, you'd get such a good husband."

Most people assumed her body defined her worth. Many boys dismissed her before they even got to know her, convinced that her appearance alone made her unworthy of love.

But despite the endless comments, Saanjh refused to lose hope.

Somewhere out there, she believed, was someone who would love her exactly as she was—not for the number on a weighing scale, but for the person she was beneath it. Someone who would fall in love with Saanjh, not with a version society wanted her to become.

Unfortunately, the world didn't always share that belief.

College, however, had never been kind to her.

Every campus had its popular crowd, and every popular crowd seemed to need someone to mock. For hers, that someone was usually Saanjh—and her best friend, Krunal Agarwal, whom she lovingly called Chashmish.

The insults had become painfully familiar.

Hippo.

Elephant.

Fatso.

The names changed, but the cruelty behind them never did.

Except for Krunal, she had no real friends. He stood beside her through every joke, every whispered insult, and every humiliating laugh echoing across the corridors. While everyone else treated them as the campus punchline, they focused on what truly mattered. Saanjh dreamed of becoming a child psychologist, while Krunal aspired to become a doctor.

The bullying wasn't new.

As a child, the constant taunts often left her in tears. Almost every day she returned home crying, wondering why she was never enough.

Her mother would hold her close and gently wipe away her tears.

"Baby, they aren't worth your time," she'd say softly. "People who judge others by appearance never see a person's true worth. You're beautiful, Saanjh. You have every feature of a beautiful young woman, but what makes you truly special is your heart. Your kindness, your compassion—that's your real beauty. Never let anyone convince you otherwise."

Saanjh wanted desperately to believe her. She knew her mother was trying to make her stronger, but strength didn't come easily to someone who had spent years being reminded that she didn't fit society's standards.

She had always been a healthy child, but as she entered adolescence, food slowly became more than just nourishment. Every cruel comment, every mocking laugh, every sideways glance pushed her a little closer toward emotional eating. Junk food became her comfort when the world made her feel unwanted.

Ironically, the very thing that helped soothe her pain became another reason people judged her.

It was a vicious cycle she hadn't yet learned how to escape.

The familiar aroma of freshly brewed tea and toasted bread greeted Saanjh as she made her way downstairs. In the kitchen, her mother bustled around preparing breakfast while packing her lunchbox with practiced efficiency. Her father sat at the dining table, quietly reading the morning newspaper, his glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose.

It was a scene that had remained unchanged for years, and Saanjh found comfort in its familiarity.

Her parents were both retired now, living on their pensions after decades of hard work. They weren't wealthy by any means, but they had built a modest home filled with warmth, love, and countless memories. For Saanjh, that was more than enough.

"Good morning, Maa," she greeted cheerfully.

Her mother smiled warmly before placing a neatly packed tiffin box into her hands.

"Good morning, beta."

Saanjh took her seat at the dining table, her face instantly lighting up when she spotted paneer sandwiches on her plate.

Her favorite.

She happily took a bite, humming in satisfaction.

"Saanjh," her father began, folding the newspaper, "your mother and I are leaving for our native village tomorrow. We'll probably stay there for about a week. Would you like to come with us?"

She swallowed her bite before shaking her head apologetically.

"I'm sorry, Papa. I have to submit my thesis by the end of the week. I really can't miss college." She smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry about me. Like every year, I'll manage just fine."

Her mother frowned.

"Sanju..." she called softly, using the nickname only family ever did. "How will you stay here all alone?"

"Maa, I'll be okay," Saanjh assured her with a small smile. "It's only a week."

"I knew your college wouldn't allow you to come," her father said, "so I spoke to your aunt yesterday. She'll stay with you every night until we return."

Saanjh couldn't help but smile.

"That's perfectly fine, Papa."

Her aunt, Anjali Khanna, was unlike anyone Saanjh had ever met.

Independent, outspoken, and unapologetically herself, Anjali had chosen a life very different from the one society expected of women. She had once been in a live-in relationship for nearly ten years before she and her partner mutually decided to part ways when they realized love had faded. Since then, she'd lived life entirely on her own terms, never believing marriage was necessary to feel complete.

Her mother, on the other hand, could never quite understand Anjali's choices. To her, they were unconventional—perhaps even outrageous.

Saanjh didn't necessarily agree with her aunt's lifestyle either, but she admired one thing about her. Anjali never cared what people thought. Sometimes, Saanjh wished she possessed even a fraction of that confidence.

"So, when are you both leaving?" she asked.

"Tomorrow morning," her mother replied. "Your aunt will come over by evening. I'll prepare enough food for lunch and dinner before we leave, so you won't have to worry."

Saanjh smiled, leaned over, and planted a kiss on her mother's cheek.

"Thank you, Maa."

Her mother did everything for everyone without ever expecting anything in return. Sometimes Saanjh wondered if she would ever become even half the woman her mother was.

After finishing breakfast, she picked up her backpack and lunchbox.

"I'm leaving."

"Take care," both her parents called out together.

"I will."

Stepping outside, Saanjh inhaled the cool morning air.

The streets were the same. The people were the same. The stares were the same. She already knew how her day would unfold. A few whispered comments. Some laughter in the corridors. Maybe another cruel nickname thrown her way. Krunal would make her laugh. Classes would end.

She would return home. Another ordinary day. Or so she believed.

Completely unaware that by the end of this week, her carefully planned life would begin to unravel... and someone she'd never expected would walk into it, changing everything forever.

With that thought still far from her mind, Saanjh tightened her grip on her bag and walked toward college. Another day awaited her.