"Kon ho tum aur kya matlab chaiyaan chaiyaan?"

"Jian hai aap."

"Never miss Arab pranks."

(Translation: These are just some of the viral Instagram reels)

The sounds blared from my brother Agastya's phone, and, as usual, no prizes for guessing—it had to be his non-stop Instagram scrolling time, which, by the way, is basically 24/7.

"Irritation" doesn’t even begin to cover the level of annoyance bubbling inside me.

Ughhhh. Never mind.

I did finish his entire box of chocolates yesterday. And not just any chocolate, but RICHELO, the kind that costs you more than just your pocket change—probably your kidney too.

Speaking of which, I need to place an order for my bakery stock. Oh, and by the way, it's called Whisks and Whims.

I was just about to drift back to sleep when—out of nowhere—two not-so-gentle hands yanked the blanket off me, exposing my face to the full wrath of the morning sun.

"Arrgghhhh, Chooze!" I groaned, "Let me sleep a little longer, please!"

(Chooza~ little chicken)

I looked up to meet Agastya's signature mischievous grin—the one he flashes when he's about to 'patkao' me like a WWE pro (patkao ~ toss)

Hold up. Is he about to do that now? Did he find out I ate his precious chocolates? Oh no, no, no... I cannot let him win. I have to pull out my Bhramastra... "PAPAAAA!" I scream, hoping my superhero dad will swoop in. (Bhramastra ~ supernatural weapon)

But before I can even finish calling for help, I’m wrapped in the blanket and sent flying onto the bed. I try to escape, squirming in the blanket, but nothing seems to work.

What now?

"I CAN'T... I CAN'T STOP LAUGHING DIDI, YOU LITERALLY LOOK LIKE A BURRITO RIGHT NOW!" Agastya bursts out in between his uncontrollable laughter.

"GET ME OUT!" I yell, but it’s drowned out by his endless fits of giggles.

After Agastya finally calms down from his manic laughter, he pulls out his phone, clearly planning to take some "artistic" photos of me in my disheveled state.

No way, he's definitely going to upload these on Snapchat. I can already picture it: a beautiful collage made from every embarrassing moment he’s captured of me over the years, all scheduled to post on my birthday. Ugh. Fine, whatever. I give up.I just lay there, like a potato, surrendering to my fate.

But just before he snaps the picture of my misery, enter my superhero dad, swooping in like he’s straight out of an action movie, snatching the phone from Agastya’s hand.

“Don’t you dare mess with my Laddoo,” Dad says, feigning annoyance, though I can practically hear him fighting back a grin.

After scolding Agastya—which is more like a half-hearted attempt at discipline, given how much he’s trying to suppress his giggles—my skin finally gets to breathe. The suffocating blanket is finally gone, and I’m free.

And you know what? There’s absolutely no guilt left in me for finishing those chocolates. Actually, I’m pretty proud of it now.In fact, I think it’s time to share that little detail with him.

“Oh, Dad, those chocolates in the fridge were too good. I couldn’t stop at one, so... I ate them all.”

Boom. Done. I turn to look at his reaction one last time before heading downstairs.

And let me tell you, I’ve never laughed so hard in my life.

He looked like a kid who’d just found out their vacation was canceled last minute—eyes wide, jaw dropped, a mix of disbelief and betrayal that could’ve been straight out of a soap opera. He was completely shell-shocked for a moment, like I’d told him the earth was flat or something.

Hahaha. Serves him right.

I freshen up quickly, my stomach growling as I rush to the kitchen, eager to satisfy my ever-hungry self. The tempting smell of aaloo paratha fills the air, and I can’t help but hope that’s what Mumma’s making—it’s been ages since I had them.

“Finally! I get to see you in this outfit,” Mumma beams, her voice full of pride. “I bought this for you from a boutique nearby, and it’s been sitting in your cupboard ever since. Pink suits you so well, Laddoo,” she adds, flashing me a smile that always warms my heart.

I pout, “Are we having aaloo parathas for breakfast, Mumma?”

“Not unless you’ve been hiding any from me,” Agastya chimes in dramatically. “Mumma, this blackhole ate all the chocolates I had been saving for days!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you new ones, alright baby?” Mumma reassures him, a knowing smile on her face.

Just then, my dad walks in, his voice filled with admiration. “Smells amazing, love. Whatever you’re making, I can’t wait to savor it.” His praise is always so genuine; he’s completely smitten with Mumma. They’re the perfect couple, constantly making me wish for something as real and beautiful as what they share. Both doctors at my Dad's hospital, my dad’s a senior cardiologist and Mumma’s a renowned dermatologist. It’s their hospital, a testament to their shared vision and the life they’ve built together.

I smile to myself as I get ready to head to my bakery. It’s not just about the money—it’s my passion. Being one of the leading female entrepreneurs in Udaipur is something I’m proud of, but it’s more than that. It drives me to support women who don’t have the same resources I do. I work closely with small, women-led businesses, offering them guidance and resources whenever I can. It’s my way of giving back to the community that helped me get where I am today.

As I take a last look at myself in the mirror, a wide smile spreads across my face. My outfit—a soft pastel pink ensemble—perfectly reflects my mood. I’m wearing a delicate blush pink top with lace details, paired with a matching A-line skirt that moves gracefully with me. My hair falls in loose waves, and my makeup is natural, with a subtle rose blush and pink lips. I finish the look with gold hoop earrings, a blush pink clutch, and a delicate gold bracelet that Agastya gave me when I opened my bakery’s newest outlet.

The cool breeze hits me as I drive to my bakery, a gentle reminder of how much I cherish these quiet moments. Technically, you could call my bakery a side project since my main income comes from my marketing business, but Whisks and Whims is the one thing that truly feels like mine—the one thing I’m proud of, the love of my life.

As soft melodies of my favorite song fill the car, I hum along, lost in my thoughts, when my phone buzzes with a call. It's Meera. Meera Vashist—my best friend, my partner in crime, my sister from another mister. The girl I’d drop everything for, the girl who’s got my back no matter what, the girl who knows my most embarrassing secrets and still chooses to stick around. She’s the yin to my yang, the one person who’s been through everything with me, the one person who truly gets me.

"Arre Navya, kya tumhe lagta hai main koi paagal ashiq vagerah hoon jo tum mere calls ignore kiye jaa rahi ho?"

(You make me feel like this lover of yours you badly wanna get rid of by ignoring all my calls)

Her voice rings through the speaker with the kind of energy that only she can bring. It's loud, proud, and impossible to ignore.

"Sorry yaar!" I quickly interrupt, trying to get a word in between her ongoing 'complaint session.'

"Navya, sun, sun! Ek baat bolu?" she asks, building up her usual drama.

(Can I say something, pretty please?)

"Mere na bolne par rukegi?" I tease her with a mock scoff.

(As if you'd stop talking if I say no!)

"I'm not a lorry to carry your sorry",she says, delivering the punchline she’s been dying to say all day. Another sigh escapes me, but I can’t help but smile at her antics.

"Okay, okay. I called to tell you that Neil’s mom wants us over for lunch tomorrow. She didn’t directly tell you because a certain someone likes to go full-caveman mode every now and then."

A soft laugh escapes me, knowing she’s right. Sometimes, I just need time for myself to recharge—just me, my thoughts, and my diary. No one else.

We chat for a little longer as I drive, the warm buzz of her voice keeping me company until I reach the bakery.

As I step inside the Fatehpura outlet of Whisks and Whims, the sweet, comforting fragrance of vanilla instantly fills my senses, embracing me like an old friend. I know I mention my bakery a lot, but can you blame me? It’s not just a business to me; it’s my baby, my passion, the heart of everything I’ve worked for.

The exterior of the café-bakery is nothing short of grand. The building stands tall with sleek, whitewashed walls adorned with creeping ivy that adds a touch of elegance. Large, arched windows stretch from floor to ceiling, letting the golden light in and offering a glimpse of the cozy warmth inside. Above the entrance, a bold yet sophisticated sign reads Whisks and Whims in delicate gold lettering, illuminated softly by string lights that twinkle as the sun begins to set. At the foot of the entrance, marble steps lead up to a set of double doors, inviting customers in, while the outdoor seating area is lined with iron bistro tables, surrounded by lush plants in chic planters. The whole space exudes an effortlessly charming vibe, a blend of modern luxury and cozy comfort, just the way I envisioned it.

As I admire my little piece of heaven, I see Muskaan, my assistant, taking long strides towards me and what she says next draws every bit of air out of my lungs.

"Mam… they… they... they're planning on taking over the bakery."