Zoya’s POV

morning sun spilled gently across the Kapoor Villa, brushing the cream walls with a soft golden glow. Zoya Kapoor stretched lazily on her bed, her dark brown, wavy hair falling perfectly tangled around her shoulders. At 5’6” and skinny, she moved with quiet grace, a sharp contrast to the bustling energy of her family downstairs.

“Zoya! Breakfast’s getting cold!” her mother called from the dining room, her voice warm but edged with impatience.

“Coming, Ma,” I replied, grabbing my phone from the bedside table. A few messages from Ishani and my best friend blinked on the screen — nothing urgent.

Downstairs, the aroma of fresh parathas and masala chai wrapped the villa like a warm blanket. Ishani was already chattering away about her plans for the day, completely absorbed in a story about some young prince she’d seen online during a recent palace event. I smiled faintly, amused by her harmless crush on someone she’d never even met.

Kiko, my cockatiel, perched on the edge of the breakfast table, chirped softly. “Morning, Kiko,” I murmured, offering him a small piece of paratha.

I took my time eating, savoring the normalcy of home life — Ma’s laughter, Dad’s quiet voice, Ishani’s giggles, the cozy chaos of family mornings. I’d do anything for them — my family and my best friend. But with strangers, I was different. Trust didn’t come easy.

My eyes drifted to the stack of novels by my bedside — stories of power, betrayal, and survival. I had read them all, and sometimes, I liked to imagine myself in those worlds, solving problems, outsmarting danger. Maybe it was silly, but it made me feel strong. The truth was, I was clever, introverted, independent — and terrified of one thing: losing control. Losing my freedom. Being trapped.

“Zoya, you daydreaming again?” Ishani snapped from across the room.

“Maybe,” I said, smirking faintly. Then I turned to Ma. “Ma… I’m going out today.”

She looked up immediately. “Out? Where?”

“To the bookstore. I want to buy a new book,” I said, shrugging.

Her frown deepened. “Zoya! You’re always reading! Day in, day out—”

Before I could react, a chappal came flying straight at me.

“And when I bring up marriage, you never agree! Always reading!”

I folded my arms, annoyance bubbling up. “What’s wrong with reading?”

“Reading won’t save you from reality,” Ma snapped. “One day, you’ll have to think about your future… marriage is part of it.”

I met her gaze, my voice calm but sharp. “I will not marry anyone. Ever.”

Ma huffed, clearly exasperated. “At least look at your sister, Ishani. She’ll have to think about marriage one day, and you’re setting the example!”

“I don’t care,” I said firmly, finishing my food. No one — not even my mother — could decide how I should live my life.

After breakfast, I went back to my room, changed quickly. The moment I stepped outside, sunlight kissed my face, warm and bright. Freedom — that’s what it felt like.

As I walked to the bookstore, I was already thinking about which book I’d choose, which new world I’d escape into this time. A world where I could think freely, act freely, live freely.

Behind me, Kapoor House  remained quiet and peaceful — unaware that the girl who loved silence and stories had a mind sharper than most, and a heart determined to carve her own path. It was just another morning. But somehow, I felt like something was about to change.

Later that evening, I returned home, slipping quietly into my reading corner with Kiko perched beside me. The soft glow of the lamp washed over the pages of my latest novel, and within seconds, I was gone — lost in another world.

“Zoya!” Ma’s voice broke through from the hallway. She was holding an envelope — a fancy one, not like the usual bills and letters we got.

“What is it?” I asked.

She opened it carefully, her eyes widening. “Oh my… it’s… it’s from the royals!” she gasped.

I blinked, lowering my book. “The royals?”

“Yes! They’re inviting us to a grand ball tomorrow — a proper party at the palace!” Ma’s voice was a mix of disbelief and excitement. “It’s the first time we’ve ever received something like this. Can you imagine?”

Ishani’s eyes practically sparkled. “Wait, the royals are inviting us? Are you serious?”

Something about the whole thing made me uneasy. Royal invitations were rare — too rare. They didn’t just land in people’s mailboxes for no reason.

Ma turned to Dad, explaining the details, even though he already seemed to know. He just listened, his expression unreadable.

Finally, he said, calm but firm, “Yes… we will go.”

Ishani squealed, clapping her hands. “So… all of us are going?”

“Yeah,” Dad said, his gaze steady.

“All?” I repeated, narrowing my eyes. When I saw their faces, I already knew the answer. I crossed my arms. “You all go. I’m not coming.”

Ma’s eyes flared. “Not coming? Zoya! This isn’t some family function you can skip. It’s the royals inviting us — you do not get to say no.”

“Ma—” I started, but Dad’s voice cut through, calm yet unyielding.

“You are coming. That’s final.”

“Dad, it’s not yours to decide!” I shot back. “You can’t force me to go anywhere!”

His voice rose slightly, but it was steady — commanding. “You’re coming. Be ready by noon. The party starts at five. That’s final.”

My chest tightened, frustration burning hot under my skin. I grabbed my bag and stormed off to my room, Kiko fluttering behind me as if he sensed the storm too.

The house fell into tense silence. Ishani peeked from behind the sofa, unsure whether to cheer or fear. Her mother exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. Zoya’s rebellion was unmistakable — but so was the danger looming in the days ahead.