One Month Ago
The hilly roads of Kullu were scattered with soft pink flowers.
A gentle chill lingered in the air, seeping into the breath and bones.
People passing by rubbed their hands together to keep warm, walking briskly.
On that very path, a girl — perhaps fifteen years old — was walking slowly.
She wore a school uniform, a bag hung on her shoulders, and kept rubbing her hands together in an effort to warm them.
After a short walk, she stopped.
In front of her stood a school.
She looked up at the board:
"St. Joel Convent International School"
Just then, the school bell rang and she hurried inside.
Breathless, she reached her classroom — for a moment, all eyes turned to her, then everyone went back to their own work as if she didn't exist.
She quietly made her way to the back and sat down, gazing out the window.
A few boys, noticing her, whispered to another boy:
"Hey Aryaman, doesn't that girl live near your place?"
"What nonsense! How would I know?" Aryaman snapped.
"No, I actually saw her on your street yesterday."
"Then why not just say she lives in my house?"
Aryaman shouted and stormed out of the class.
"What's wrong with him?" one boy murmured.
The other just shrugged.
After the morning prayer, the class began. The Hindi teacher entered with the attendance register and began calling names one by one.
"Nakshatra…"
"Nakshatra…"
Everyone turned to look at her — she was still staring blankly out the window.
The teacher shouted,
"Nakshatra!"
She jolted and quickly replied,
"Yes, sir…"
"What kind of behavior is this, Nakshatra? We're taking attendance and your mind is somewhere else. What were you looking at?"
"I'm sorry…"
"You're in a Hindi class!"
"Kripya kshama kijiye, Shikshak Mahoday…"
she said in formal Hindi, and the whole class burst into laughter.
"That's enough. Now pay attention in class."
"Yes, sir."
"Stupid," Aryaman muttered under his breath.
Lunchtime
She stayed alone — as always.
Nakshatra never mingled with the others.
One reason was her simple appearance — no makeup, no high-end fashion, no elite vibe.
The other reason — Aryaman Rana.
Aryaman was the star of the class — adored by everyone, boys and girls alike.
He had the latest phones, latest gadgets — everything top-tier.
And he despised Nakshatra.
Nobody knew why,
but his attitude made it painfully clear.
After School…
Aryaman came home and barked at one of the servants:
"Where is she?"
"She hasn't come home yet…"
Aryaman clenched his jaw and began pacing in the hall.
Moments later, Nakshatra walked in.
Aryaman stormed up to her.
"You don't understand simple instructions, do you?!
How many times have I told you — stop going out of the house!
One of my friends saw you outside yesterday.
What if he had seen you inside?
Do you know how shameful that would be for me?
You… You—!"
He was gritting his teeth.
"This is my home too, and I have every right to come and go as I please,"
Nakshatra replied coldly, turning away.
Aryaman grabbed her wrist and twisted it.
"How dare a cheap maid in my house speak back to me?"
Nakshatra glared at him with her usual icy expression,
twisted his wrist back, and pinned his arm behind him.
"Learn your limits,"
she muttered, pushing him away and walking off.
"My friends are coming over today.
Don't even think of showing your face, you maid!"
Aryaman yelled after her.
"Arya… she's your friend! Why do you speak to her like that?"
his grandmother scolded gently from behind.
"Friend? My foot. She's just a maid."
Nakshatra slammed her bag down in her room and began pulling out her books to work on her homework.
She knew Aryaman's friends were coming,
and if she went outside and got seen,
he would once again use it as an excuse to get her beaten.
After finishing her homework, she peered out of her room.
Loud laughter came from Aryaman's room — his friends had arrived.
Meanwhile, her stomach was growling.
The constant rumble was proof of her hunger.
"Wow Aryaman! Is this a new PC? Looks amazing!"
Aryaman smirked and boasted,
"Yeah, it's the latest model. Dad had it shipped from the U.S.
Obviously, being the richest man in Kullu means everything we get is the best."
"Lucky you!"
his friends said, gazing at all the gadgets in awe.
Nakshatra tried to ignore her hunger.
But when it became unbearable, she quietly tiptoed toward the kitchen, her eyes constantly darting toward Aryaman's room —
worried he might suddenly come out.
In the kitchen, she saw there was rajma-chawal.
She hated rajma — and Aryaman knew that better than anyone.
Which is why he had it made so often — whether he ate it or not, it was the perfect way to annoy her.
She took some rice, added a bit of pickle, and was about to leave when—
Footsteps.
"Dude, even your kitchen looks awesome…"
one of Aryaman's friends said from behind.
Nakshatra quickly shrank into a corner, hiding where she wouldn't be seen.
A servant entered.
"Do you need anything, Baba?"
Aryaman looked at the plate with rice and pickle,
then noticed a bit of a frock peeking from behind a cabinet.
With a smug smile, he said:
"Send this rajma-chawal to my room… and bring some snacks and Coke with it too."
The servant nodded and left.
Aryaman looked at Nakshatra's plate,
then without blinking, dumped it into the dustbin — and walked out.
Nakshatra stayed hidden a few seconds longer.
When she was sure he was gone, she stepped out.
The kitchen was now empty.
She opened the fridge — nothing.
All the snacks, chocolates, and drinks had been taken to Aryaman's room.
"Do you want anything?"
a servant asked politely.
Nakshatra looked at him — there was no expectation in her eyes.
Only that same cold, unreadable calm.
"No."
She walked back to her room.
Dinner would now be her only hope for food.
Rana Cottage had strict mealtimes —
three meals a day only: breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Snacks were usually ordered by Aryaman,
and his grandparents were content with tea a few times a day.
Nakshatra paced around her room.
Because of Aryaman, she couldn't even take her tiffin to school today.
She hadn't eaten a single bite since morning.
Now, her hunger twisted in her stomach painfully.
She sipped some water.
But water might quench thirst —
what about hunger?
She lay down, hoping maybe sleep would distract her.
But who can sleep on an empty stomach?
Each time she shifted, her body groaned in protest.
Eventually, defeated,
she picked up her books and began reading again.