I step out of Dr. Sen's office and take a deep breath, letting the crisp air fill my lungs. For the first time in years, I feel good—mentally good.
Recovering from my eating disorder has been the hardest journey of my life, one I never thought I could navigate. It all began with my mother's constant taunts. Her words, "Who will marry a fat girl like you?" played on repeat in my mind until they became my personal anthem of inadequacy.
If you haven't guessed already, I was chubby as a child—10 or 11 years old, carefree and unaware of how much my body shape mattered to her. But after years of devouring her taunts for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I developed an unhealthy obsession with my weight.
My mother had her own obsession, too. She banned the maids from cooking anything I liked and strictly enforced scheduled diet plans. No sweets, no street food—my ultimate comfort. She took away the things that made me happy and replaced them with calorie charts and lectures.
When I turned 13, the pressure became unbearable. So, I stopped eating altogether. Sometimes I skipped dinner; other times, I skipped breakfast or lunch. On some days, I survived on nothing but water. If I did eat, guilt consumed me, and I'd force myself to throw it up. The idea of letting myself indulge, even a little, terrified me. I thought gaining weight would make me unworthy again.
Oddly enough, my mother never questioned my eating habits. She was just thrilled I was losing weight rapidly.
Everything changed when I was 17. That was when Yuhaan Bhaiya came back from abroad. He noticed things—how frail I looked, the dark circles under my eyes, the way I avoided food like it was poison. Yuvaan, my younger brother, had also matured by then. One day, he caught me throwing up in the bathroom.
That's how I ended up here—sitting in Dr. Sen's office every Saturday morning for therapy. At first, I resisted. I didn't want to talk about the mess in my head, didn't want to acknowledge that my eating habits were killing me. But seeing the worry in my brothers' eyes made me give in.
And now, here I am, stepping into the sunlight after a therapy session that feels like a small victory. Today, for the first time in eight years, I ate an entire chocolate bar. It took me two hours to finish it, nibbling slowly as I talked to Dr. Sen, but I didn't feel guilty. Not once.
For me, that's huge.
I sat in my car, clapped my hands together in excitement, and told the driver uncle, "Take me to a beautiful cafe!" This moment felt worth celebrating, even if I wasn't ready to eat an entire slice of cake myself. My brothers could enjoy it, and I'd enjoy the gesture.
Soon enough, we pulled up to the cafe Yuvaan had raved about—the one he said had the best cakes in town. I stepped out of the car and rushed inside, instantly greeted by the sweet, comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
The place was a vision. White walls adorned with delicate flowers gave it an ethereal, aesthetic charm. It was the kind of place you'd want to spend hours in, lost in conversation or a good book.
Without wasting a second, I went straight to the counter and ordered a blueberry cheesecake. The idea of celebrating with this decadent dessert made me feel giddy. Once I paid the bill and had the cake in hand, I headed toward the exit, already planning a return visit with Anay and Rhea. They'd adore this place as much as I did.
Lost in the thought of their reactions, I didn't notice the wall in front of me. Or at least, that's what I thought it was when I slammed into something solid. My cheesecake flew out of my hand like a bird taking flight, and before I could react, coffee splashed all over me.
The impact sent me stumbling backward. My head throbbed, and I instinctively rubbed my forehead, squeezing my eyes shut as I muttered, "Great, just great. Now I'll have a speed breaker on my head."
Confused and a little embarrassed, I opened my eyes to find not a wall—but a very tall man staring down at me. His coffee cup was now empty, its contents clearly decorating my beautiful white anarkali.
And just like that, I wanted the ground to swallow me whole.
The man's expression was a cocktail of anger, amusement, and irritation as he glared at me. I gulped, feeling a little scared. It wasn't every day I collided with a giant—a tall man with a broad chest that felt like a concrete wall—glaring at me like he was about to skin me alive.
"Are you blind?" he asked, his voice deep and commanding, the kind you only hear from the male leads of steamy audiobooks. I nearly choked at how rich and velvety it sounded, completely forgetting my current predicament.
"Are you deaf too?" he snapped his fingers in front of my face, yanking me out of my daze.
Not the time to drool, I reminded myself.
"Huh? What did you say?" I managed, mustering a fraction of confidence.
He bent down, leaning dangerously close to my face, his intense gaze locking with mine. "I asked if you're blind and deaf," he repeated, his voice dropping into a slow, intimidating growl.
If I weren't hyper-aware of the scant centimetres between us, I would've been completely distracted by how his lips moved, the sound of his voice, and how unfairly good-looking he was up close. But I wasn't going to let him intimidate me.
I leaned back and scowled. "Move away from me. Your mouth stinks."
That was a lie. He smelled annoyingly incredible—like a mix of cedarwood and something warm and spicy. But there was no way I'd admit that out loud.
A few chuckles erupted around us, reminding me that we were in a cafe, not in some dramatic, private standoff. I glanced around and immediately regretted it. The audience was eating this up, and I felt heat creeping up my neck.
When I looked back at him, his expression had shifted from annoyed to furious. His jaw tightened, and his hands balled into fists. Without warning, he punched a nearby table, silencing all the laughter in the room. I flinched, startled by his sudden outburst.
"Do you even know who you're talking to?" he hissed, his voice laced with venom.
Here's the thing about being a princess— out of all the downsides, there was one perk: no one in this entire city had the power or guts to harm me, no matter how intimidating they seemed.
I crossed my arms and shot back, "I don't know, and I don't care."
My gaze shifted to the fallen cheesecake, now reduced to a sad pile of mush as the cafe staff cleaned the mess. The sight made my irritation flare. Without thinking twice, I grabbed a half-filled glass of orange juice from a nearby table and poured it over his head.
"Now we're even," I declared.
The cafe went silent. He froze, looking at me like he was debating whether to strangle me on the spot. The orange juice dripped down his perfect face, and for a brief second, I wondered if I'd gone too far.
But I didn't wait to find out. Before he could act on any murderous instincts, I flipped my hair, turned on my heel, and walked briskly past him like I owned the place. I was feeling like a girl boss and this was my slay moment.
Sliding into the car, I exhaled deeply and sent a quick prayer upward. " Bhagwan ji, please, please don't let me ever meet this jerk again."
(Dear god)
___________
The first meet✨.
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