'Looking so good should be crime, no wonder why he is criminal'.
Shivaleeka Singhania
An Indian girl who is forced to marry someone she doesn't know. 5 overprotective Mariano brothers who can do anything for her and vise versa
Alexander Knight
He...
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Time flies just like melting ice.
Altering the course of my life in just a few short years. After the tragic loss of my parents, I made the difficult decision to leave behind my homeland of India and seek solace in Italy, as there was no one left for me back there. Being the only child of my father, and with my mother's brother residing in distant London, I found myself begrudgingly paying a visit to my dear uncle. Please note the heavy sarcasm in my tone. Why? Frankly, I have no idea. He only contacts me when he requires something, or rather, when he needs money.
"Ma'am, please fasten your seatbelt. We are ready for takeoff," the instructor's voice pierced through my reverie, bringing me back to the present. Obliging, I followed his instructions and secured the seatbelt around me.
Lost in thoughts of my parents, my mind drifted towards the contrasting memories I held of them. My mother, ever loving and caring, left an indelible mark on my heart. However, my relationship with my father was far more complicated. I neither hated nor loved him. From the very beginning, it was evident that he never desired my presence. He yearned for a son—a bearer of his family name, someone who could make him proud and uphold his heritage. Financially, my father fulfilled his responsibilities, covering my school fees and all my expenses. Money was never a concern for him; he utilized his wealth to support me, almost as if I were a charitable cause. Yet, he never truly acknowledged my existence.
To my disappointment, he never even called me by my name. I was reduced to being referred to as 'girl.' I longed to be the source of his pride, his beloved daughter, and most importantly, I craved the acknowledgment of being his cherished child—not just some generic girl.
In my daydreams, I often imagined forging the perfect bond with my father—a bond filled with love, affection, and mutual admiration. I yearned for the day he would utter my name with pride, showcasing his unconditional love for me. But as time passed, I began to realize that these dreams would never come to fruition. I could never be the "boy" he desperately desired. At the tender age of eight, I lacked the maturity to comprehend why my father callously discarded the certificate and medal I had earned through my prowess in running. He dismissed it as a waste of time, categorizing running and sports as activities solely meant for boys.
Driven by an overwhelming desperation for my father's attention, I resorted to drastic measures. I impulsively grabbed a pair of scissors and severed my long, silky locks—the very hair I treasured most—in an attempt to resemble a boy. In the simplistic understanding of an eight-year-old mind, I believed that the primary difference between boys and girls lay in the length of their hair. I was determined to bridge that gap.
Alas, my efforts were in vain, as my father persistently scorned my existence. I vividly recall turning to my mother, tearfully asking her why he despised me so intensely. Her reply never offered solace, as she simply stated that he had his reasons.
Lost in my thoughts and emotions, a gentle voice interrupted my reverie. Startled, I turned towards the source, discovering a gracefully aged woman with enchanting green eyes by my side.
"Huh?" I furrowed my brows, wiping away the remnants of tears that had escaped my notice.
"You're crying. Are you alright?" she asked with genuine concern, her voice a soothing balm to my troubled soul.
Oh no! I hadn't even realized I was shedding tears. Hastily, I wiped them away and forcefully summoned a smile to my lips.
"Ah, I'm perfectly fine. Just lost in thought," I replied, attempting to conceal the depth of my emotions. "By the way, I'm Shivaleeka Singhania. You can call me Shiv or Lee." I extended my hand, hoping to divert the conversation.
The woman reciprocated with a warm smile as she shook my hand. "I'm Rose Knight. It's a pleasure to meet you, sweetheart." she said, her kind eyes radiating a sense of motherly affection.
"Likewise." I replied, my tone filled with polite gratitude.
Curiosity piqued, Rose ventured further. "By any chance, are you Indian?" she inquired, her words delivered with genuine interest.
Perplexed, I questioned her intent behind the query. "Yes, I am. May I ask why you're curious?" Confusion laced my words. Did being Indian pose any problem for her?
Rose quickly clarified, her cheerful tone dismissing any misgivings. "Oh, please don't misunderstand. I noticed a slight accent, and I happen to love Indians. Their rich culture and traditions have always fascinated me."
A faint blush crept upon my cheeks as I offered a shy "Thank you, I guess," uncertain of how to respond to her unexpected admiration.
An extended silence enveloped us, though it was far from uncomfortable. There was an innate sense of ease in Rose's presence, her aura exuding a maternal calm.
Unable to contain her curiosity any longer, Rose cautiously broached the subject that had prompted my tears. "If you don't mind me asking, why were you crying?" Her words teetered on hesitation, displaying her genuine concern.
Just as I prepared to share the truth, to unburden my heart, she preemptively interjected, her voice tinged with empathy. "You don't have to reply if you don't want to. I was just worried about you."
Summoning my strength, I mustered a smile and decided to divert the conversation away from my true pain. "Oh, it's nothing serious. I was simply missing someone dearly." I replied, my voice laced with a hint of melancholy, yet masked with a veil of feigned cheerfulness.
I had learned to wear a smile, for it was my way of embodying the principle of 'treating people with kindness' by Harry Styles. After all, one never truly knows the battles others may be fighting beneath their own masks.
Rose, seemingly intuitive, offered her own perspective. "I think you love that someone very much, given how much you cried for them." Her statement, innocent and unaware of the truth, struck a chord within me.
Unable to reveal the true depths of my pain, I opted for a fabricated response, my words dripping with falsehood. "Yes, I love him immensely," I lied, shielding Rose from the harsh reality of my relationship with my father.
Engaged in conversation, we continued to talk as the flight carried us towards our destination. Rose shared tales of her life, venting about her elder son's reluctance to spend time with her and his hesitance to enter into marriage. A typical mother, seeking solace in the company of a stranger. Secretly, I amused myself, struggling to contain laughter at her childlike complaints, yet always mindful of maintaining composure.
As the wheels of the aircraft kissed the runway, we prepared to disembark, bidding farewell to the temporary sanctuary of the cabin. With a mixture of apprehension and hope, I whispered to myself,
Well here goes nothing!
HEYYYYGUYSSS!
1188 words!
So here is 1st chapter Ik its short but I hope you all like this chapter.
