"98%!! Vanya Dii, where are you!? Party time!"

Aarav Rajput's excited voice echoed through the estate's garden corridor, sending a flock of sparrows fluttering from their perch in the nearby mango tree. his face glowed with pure joy.

In the family's pride and joy - their garden paradise - Vanya Rajput sat on her favorite stone bench.

Surrounding her were bursts of color: marigolds in bright orange, jasmine flowers spreading their sweet fragrance, and her grandmother's precious tulsi plant standing proud in its decorated clay pot.

Her fingers danced over her guitar strings, playing a mix of old Bollywood tunes and modern pop. She wore her lucky outfit - a white crop top paired with her mother's handed-down floral skirt, the one with tiny peacocks embroidered along its border.

Her thick black hair, oiled and braided every morning by her grandmother, caught the evening sun like silk. When she smiled, a dimple appeared on her left cheek - a trait she shared with her father.

The peaceful moment shattered as Aarav came charging through the garden path, nearly tripping over their pet cat Munni, who gave an indignant "meow" and scampered away.

"Diiiii!!!"

Vanya's music stopped mid-strum. She looked up to see her brother, his face flushed with excitement, waving his phone like a victory flag.

"Kya ho gaya? Itna kaise bhaag ke aaya hai?" Vanya asked, though she couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm.

(What happened? Why are you running like this?)

"Arey Dii!" Aarav paused to catch his breath, the familiar scent of their mother's cardamom chai wafting from the house.

"Your 12th results are out-98%! You've done it!" His voice excited "Even Sharma Aunty's daughter couldn't beat you this time! Mom's already calling the mithai-wala!"

As they walked toward the house, the sweet fragrance of incense from their grandmother's evening puja mingled with the aroma of fresh pakoras - their mother always cooked when she was nervous about results.

"What about your results?" Vanya nudged her brother. "Wasn't your 10th grade report coming too?"

"Papa's checking right now," Aarav fidgeted with his school badge. "My stomach's doing flip-flops on bhangada beats..."

They entered the study room, where their parents waited. The room was a familiar comfort, with its walls lined with family photos, academic certificates, and their father's precious collection of vintage Bollywood posters. Their mother, Devyani, stood near the window, her silk saree catching the evening light, prayer marks still fresh on her forehead from her evening aarti.

"Vanya beta!" Devyani rushed forward, enveloping her daughter in a tight hug that smelled of familiar spices and love.

Their father, Mahendra, sat at his ancient wooden desk - the same one where both children had learned their first alphabets. His eyes sparkled with pride as he announced,

"Vanya beta, so proud of you! And Aarav! 80% beta... Both my kids are incredible!"

"Dadi kahan hai?" Vanya looked around for her grandmother, even as the words left her mouth.

Right on cue, their grandmother Yamini appeared, her silver hair neatly braided, her cotton saree carrying the subtle scent of camphor from her prayer room. "Here's your Dadi! Congratulations to both my precious ones. Always study well and-"

"Oh no, Dadi, enough with the studying!" Aarav dramatically fell onto the plush diwan. "The results are done! Now it's time for a party! I can smell those pakoras anyway..."

The room filled with laughter as their grandmother playfully swatted at Aarav with her dupatta. The scent of fresh jasmine, cooking spices, and happiness filled the air as the Rajput family celebrated their children's success - together, as they always had been.

Through the window, the setting sun painted the sky in shades of orange and pink, casting a warm glow over the family portrait hanging on the wall - five generations of Rajputs, their legacy.

___________________________________

Night had settled over the Rajput estate like a silk shawl, bringing with it the familiar symphony of crickets and distant temple bells. In the grand drawing room, antique brass lamps cast a warm glow on the rosewood furniture. The ceiling fan spun lazily, its shadows dancing across the Persian carpet.

Mahendra Singh Rajput sat in his favorite spot on the plush sofa, one that had molded to his shape over years of evening discussions.

His fingers wrapped around a ceramic cup of masala chai - made exactly the way he liked it, with extra cardamom and just a hint of ginger. The steam rose in delicate swirls, mixing with the lingering scent of evening incense.

Beside him, Devyani adjusted her cotton night suit, her gold bangles tinkling softly as she moved. Her long black hair, freed from its day-long braid, cascaded over her shoulders. On the ornate single-seater,

Yamini Dadi sat like a queen on her throne, her silver hair neatly tied back, her cream-colored shawl draped perfectly across her shoulders. The family's oldest timepiece - a grandfather clock brought from England in 1947 - ticked steadily in the corner, marking time as it had done through countless such gatherings.

Their voices filled the room, discussing the upcoming elections - a topic as regular in their household as morning prayers.

"Is baar yha udaipur constituency mai naya pratinidhi kaun banne wala hai state election mai?" (Who is going to be the new representative in udaipur constituency this time in state election?)

Yamini's voice carried the weight of someone who had seen political seasons come and go like monsoons. "Pichle chaar terms toh Shekhawat parivaar ne hi sambhale hain." (For the last four terms, the Shekhawat family has held this position.)

She adjusted her reading glasses, peering over them with the shrewd look that had intimidated many a political candidate over the years.

Mahendra set down his cup, the china clinking against its saucer. "Haan, lekin iss baar naye chehre aa rahe hain. Mihir Shekhawat election lad raha hai, apne pita ke jagah."

(Yes, but this time, new faces are emerging. Mihir Shekhawat is contesting the election in place of his father.) His voice carried the measured tone of someone who had spent decades navigating political waters.

Devyani leaned forward, her interest piqued. The gold chain of her mangalsutra caught the lamplight as she moved. "Mihir Shekhawat? Pehli baar suna maine, kaisa ladka hai?" (Mihir Shekhawat? I've heard of him for the first time. What kind of boy is he?) Her fingers absently played with the edge of her dupatta.

"Abhi toh naye candidate ke roop mein dekha ja raha hai," (For now, he is being seen as a new candidate,) Mahendra replied, reaching for the plate of fresh besan barfi that their cook, Kamla, had prepared.

"Par ladke ki personality kaafi strong hai. Uske pita Shekhawat sahab ki tarah usme bhi leadership quality hai." (But the boy has a strong personality. Like his father, he also possesses leadership qualities.)

Yamini's eyes sparkled with memories. "Shekhawat ji toh bade samajhdar neta the," (Shekhawat ji was a very wise leader,) she reminisced, her fingers running over her prayer beads.

"Lekin dekhna hoga ki Mihir bhi unki tarah hai ya nahi." (But we will have to see whether Mihir is like him or not.) The wisdom of age colored every word.

"Woh utna hi sharp hai jitna uske pita the," (He is just as sharp as his father was,) Mahendra observed, his tone carrying both appreciation and caution.

"Lekin naye zamane ka sochta hai, shayad naye tareeke laaye rajneeti mein." (But he thinks in a modern way, perhaps he will bring new methods to politics.)

Devyani nodded thoughtfully, "Accha ladka hai,Uske pita ji MLA reh chuke hain, par pichli baar party thode votes se piche reh gayi. Dekhna hoga, beta bhi wahi rasta chalta hai ya naya banata hai."

("He seems like a good man; His father was an MLA once, but their party fell short by a few votes last time. Let's see if the son follows the same path or carves his own.")

The ceiling fan whirred above, mixing the aromas of chai, incense, and night-blooming jasmine from the garden.

Their political discourse was interrupted by the soft padding of feet. Vanya appeared in the doorway, fresh from a shower, her wet hair leaving dark patches on her oversized night shirt - an old one of her father's that she'd claimed years ago. The scent of coconut oil and rose water followed her, a familiar comfort in the politically charged atmosphere.

"Rajneeti se hamesha ghar bhara rehta hai, boring creatures." (The house is always filled with politics, so boring.) She yawned, stretching like a cat. "Mujhe toh yeh mehfilein samajh nahi aati." (I never understand these gatherings.) Her voice carried the characteristic indifference of youth towards political matters, making her grandmother shake her head with a mix of amusement and disapproval.

Pausing at the doorway, "Maa, Dadi... kal hum shopping ja rahe hain na?" (Mom, Grandma... we're going shopping tomorrow, right?) Her eyes lit up at the thought of their planned excursion.

"Haan beta, subah nikalenge,"

(Yes, dear, we'll leave in the morning,) Devyani confirmed, sharing a knowing look with Yamini. Shopping trips with three generations of Rajput women were always an event in themselves.

Vanya hummed contentedly, then turned away, leaving behind the gentle scent of her shower gel and the weightier matters of ward politics.

The political discussion resumed, but now with the softer edge that often came with nighttime conversations in the Rajput household.

Outside, traffic had mellowed to a gentle hum, and somewhere in the garden, their watchman Ramesh started his nightly rounds, his flashlight beam dancing across the windows like a wayward firefly.

___________________

Morning sunlight danced through the window, painting golden patterns on Vanya's collection of polaroid photos stuck to her wall. The breeze carried the sweet scent of kachori being fried downstairs - their cook Lalita's morning ritual. But Vanya was lost in dreamland until a familiar touch brushed her forehead, gentle yet persistent.

"Uth jaa ab. 8 baj gaye." (Wake up now. It's 8 o'clock.)

Her mother's voice broke through her dreams. Vanya responded by pulling her bright yellow blanket - the one with little elephants that she'd had since childhood - over her head.

"Phir main gussa ho jaaungi!" (Then I'll get angry!) Devyani's voice held that special mix of threat and love that only Indian mothers can master.

"Shopping pe bhi chalna hai na? Aur kitni baar bola hai maine subah jaldi uthna chahiye. Par tum aaj kal ke bachhe ek baat nahi maante." (We have to go shopping too, right? And how many times have I told you to wake up early? But you kids these days never listen!)

Vanya groaned into her pillow, breathing in the familiar scent of jasmine from her mother's perfume.

"Maa, yaar! Plzz. Ye nahi bas... uth rahi hu. 5 min." (Mom, please! Not this again... I'm getting up in 5 minutes.)

She stretched like a sleepy cat, her oversized Harry Potter t-shirt riding up.

"College girl banne wali ho tum ab. Thoda responsible bano." (You're about to become a college girl now. Be a little responsible.)

Finally opening one eye, Vanya shot her mother a look that was half irritation, half affection.

"Yaar, mummy!! You are a mood killer!" (Mom, you're such a mood killer!) But then her lips curved into a soft smile. "Par painkiller bhi..." (But also a painkiller...)

With an exaggerated sigh worthy of a Bollywood drama, she finally sat up.

"Fine, Captain! Let's start the day!"

---

Hours later, after a breakfast of special aloo parathas and mango lassi, the Rajput women found themselves at City Central Mall.

Vanya had chosen her lucky shopping outfit - a flowing white top paired with her favorite olive-green skirt, the one that twirled perfectly when she spun.

Her long dark hair caught the mall's lights like silk, decorated with the colorful clips her brother had gotten her last Rakhi.

The shopping spree was epic. Vanya tried on everything from traditional kurtis to modern dresses, making faces at herself in the trial room mirrors and sending selfies to her best friend Aditi for approval.

Her grandmother insisted on buying her at least three traditional outfits ("College ke liye formal chahiye!" - You need formals for college!), while her mother somehow managed to sneak in practical items like new bedsheets and towels ("Hostel mein kaam aayenge!" - These will be useful in the hostel!).

But the real drama started when they stepped out of the mall.

The evening air was thick with the sound of political slogans and the smell of fresh samosas from a nearby vendor. A makeshift stage had been set up in the ground, decorated with marigold garlands and party flags that fluttered in the desert breeze.

Yamini's eyes lit up with recognition.

"Oh, ye toh shank sign... Shekhawat ki party ke board lage hain." (Oh, that's the conch sign... Shekhawat's party banners are here.)

"Haan, Maa," (Yes, Mom,) Devyani nodded, adjusting her shopping bags. "Wahi bhashan chal raha hoga... Kal hi toh hum baat kar rahe the iske baare mein." (That same speech must be going on... We were just talking about this yesterday.)

Yamini's face brightened like she'd just found an extra gulab jamun in her dessert bowl.

"Haan, chalo zara dekhun toh ye Shekhawat ka ladka kaisa hai." (Yes, let's go see what this Shekhawat boy is like.)

Vanya slumped dramatically against their car, shopping bags dangling from both arms.

"Mummy, Dadi... seriously?!" (Mom, Grandma... seriously?!)

"Kya seriously?" (What seriously?) Yamini teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Tujhe nahi jaana toh mat aa. Introvert bird! Tujhse achhi toh teri dadi hai!" (If you don't want to go, don't come. Introvert bird! Your grandma is better than you!)

"Oh plzz, Dadi..." (Oh please, Grandma...) Vanya rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide her smile.

"'Oh plzz, Dadi!'" Yamini mimicked, poking Vanya's nose playfully.

Eventually, Vanya found herself being dragged toward the gathering, blowing bubbles with her strawberry-flavored gum in protest. Party workers, recognizing the influential Yamini Rajput, quickly ushered them to the front rows.

And then...

Pop!

Vanya's bubble burst as her eyes landed on the man on stage.

Mihir Shekhawat stood there, confidence radiating from every inch of him. His voice carried across the crowd like honey over thunder - smooth yet powerful.

His crisp white kurta seemed to glow in the evening light, and his eyes... oh boy, his eyes held the kind of intensity that could probably melt steel.

Wait.

What the actual f--..

Who gave politicians permission to look this good?!

Vanya's heart did a little bhangra in her chest as she stared, completely forgetting about her protest, and possibly her own name.

His every gesture commanded attention, his smile could probably solve the state's electricity crisis, and his voice...

Just then, as if the universe wanted to test her heart's gymnastics capabilities,

his eyes met hers.

Time stopped.

Her heart didn't just skip a beat - it performed a whole choreographed dance routine.

The evening breeze suddenly felt too warm.

It was only when her grandmother tugged at her hand that Vanya remembered how to breathe. She sank into her seat, her mind spinning like a possessed ceiling fan.

Mihir Shekhawat.

Even his name sounded like trouble.

The good kind of trouble.

A slow, mischievous smile spread across her face as she watched him continue his speech.

Her fingers absently played with the friendship bracelet on her wrist - the one her friends had given her for good luck.

Well, well, well...

Looks like politics just got interesting.

Because Vanya Rajput never backs down from a challenge.

And this... this was the most intriguing challenge she'd ever faced.

As Mihir Shekhawat stepped off the stage, the air around him seemed to crystallize with silent reverence. Party members swarmed toward him like moths to flame, their hushed voices carrying equal parts flattery and strategy.

Among them, an elderly gentleman with silver-streaked hair and a veteran's confidence pushed forward, eyes twinkling with the satisfaction of a chess master about to make a critical move.

"Mihir ji, aaiye, aapse kisi se milwana hai." (Mihir ji, come, there's someone you must meet.)

Mihir's eyebrow arched ever so slightly-the most emotion he had shown all evening. He followed, his stride unhurried yet purposeful, like a tiger conserving energy before the hunt.

Across stood Yamini Rajput, her silver-gray hair swept into an immaculate bun, adorned with a single jade pin-a quiet declaration of both tradition and power. Her silk saree, the color of midnight, contrasted sharply with the string of pearls at her neck.

Beside her standing Devyani, maintaining perfect posture, and slightly behind them-Vanya.

Mihir's gaze swept over the trio, lingering a half-second longer on Vanya before he approached with the precision of a military general and the charm of a seasoned diplomat. He offered a namaste, his palms pressed together with practiced grace.

"Namaste, Rajput ji. Aap se milke khushi hui." (Namaste, Rajput Ji. Meeting you is my pleasure.)

Yamini's eyes crinkled at the corners, a chess player recognizing a worthy opponent. "Jee, aap bhi mashhoor ho rahe hain, beta. Maine suna hai aapka new ideas kaafi charcha mein hai." (Yes, you're making quite a name for yourself, son. I've heard your new ideas is creating quite the buzz.)

Devyani: Bhashan accha tha. Par last point thoda aggressive nahi laga aapko?" (Your speech was good. But didn't the last point seem a bit aggressive to you?)

Mihir's smile deepened just a fraction-the political equivalent of a hearty laugh. "Aapke shabd bahut maayne rakhte hain, Ma'am. Kal discuss karenge iss par." (Your words mean a lot, Ma'am. We'll discuss this tomorrow.)

And then, inevitably, his gaze shifted-landing on Vanya with the weight of a spotlight.

Vanya, who had been quietly cataloguing everything about him-the confident set of his shoulders, the thoughtful intensity in his eyes, the way his voice carried authority without arrogance-suddenly felt exposed, as if he could somehow read the admiration written across her heart.

His eyes were sharp. Observant. Unreadable. And infuriatingly intelligent.

For a second, her mind rebooted like an ancient computer.

*System loading... please wait...*

Yamini, oblivious to her granddaughter's internal blue screen of death, gestured toward Vanya with the subtle pride of someone introducing a prize thoroughbred.

"Ye meri पोती hai, Jai Rajput ki पोती Bohot tej hai, bilkul apne dada ki tarah." (She is my granddaughter, Jai Rajput's granddaughter. Very sharp, just like her grandfather.)

At the mention of Jai Rajput, something flickered in Mihir's eyes-recognition, respect, perhaps calculation-before his attention fully locked onto Vanya again.

Vanya's heart performed an Olympic-level gymnastics routine.

*Smile, you idiot! Just smile! Not that much-now you look deranged!*

Yamini continued smoothly, "Abhi college join karegi. Bachpan se bohot samajdaar hai, par abhi political duniya ke naye daur ko samajhne ki koshish kar rahi hai." (She has just joined college. She has always been intelligent since childhood, but now she's trying to understand this new era of politics.)

Mihir gave a measured nod before addressing Vanya directly, his voice carrying the cadence of someone used to having their questions answered promptly.

"Aap bhi college join kar rahi hain? Which major subject?" (You're starting college too? Which major subject?)

Vanya's internal monologue erupted in panic.

*Namaste bol ke start kru kya? Ya sirf hello? Ajeeb lagega? Bas dekhti rahun? Hey Krishna, yeh dharam sankat kyu?* (Should I start with Namaste? Just hello? That would be weird. Should I just stare? Oh Krishna, why this moral dilemma?)

Mihir waited, the corner of his lips twitching slightly. Was that amusement in his eyes? The audacity!

Her mouth finally connected to her brain, but apparently took a detour through her imagination first.

"Umm, yea-h. Major-yeah. It's... politics." Her voice came out two octaves higher than usual.

A moment of silence fell, heavy as a parliamentary deadlock.

Her mind screamed: *WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. HELL. I'm a commerce student with an economics minor!
"Politics? POLITICS? Ab kya, uske election rallies mein bhi jaake naare lagaun?" (Should I go shout slogans at his rallies now?)

She forced a smile that felt like a grimace, while her mother and grandmother's confused stares burned into her with the intensity of a thousand suns.

Mihir, ever composed-*seriously, did the man ever sweat?*-nodded thoughtfully.
"Oh, toh rajniti mein interest hai inka? Humare college mein kaafi acha scope hai. Agar aap chahein toh-" (Oh, so she's interested in politics? Our college has a great scope for it. If you'd like, then-)

Vanya's eyes widened. For a brief, wild moment, her mind conjured images of more excuses to see him again, to actually have a real conversation, to understand the mind behind those thoughtful eyes.
*Abhi jhooth pakda jayega. Par kya mujhe sach mein unse aur baat karni hai?* (Now my lie will be caught. But do I really want to talk to him more?)

Just as she opened her mouth-likely to dig herself into an even deeper political grave-a harried party worker approached with the urgency of someone carrying state secrets.

"Shekhawat sahab, wo party ke Finance Manager call kar rahe hain. Urgent hai." (Mr. Shekhawat, the Finance Manager is calling. It's urgent.)

Mihir's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted, the consummate professional returning. He turned toward Yamini and Devyani, pressing his palms together in a respectful namaste. "Chalte hain. Fir milenge." (I'll take my leave. We'll meet again.)

Before departing, he glanced one last time at Vanya, and she could have sworn there was a glint of something genuine in those otherwise serious eyes. "Politics mein milte rahenge, lagta hai." (Seems we'll be meeting in politics.)

__________________________________

And that's a wrap for Chapter 1! ✨

I just posted the first chapter, and I'd love to hear your thoughts! Don't forget to like, comment, and share your feedback-your support means everything to me.

Let's make this journey exciting together! See you in the next chapter. ❤️🔥