Ruhi’s Morning – A Silent Strength
The shrill ring of the old alarm clock echoed in the cramped room, startling Ruhi awake. She blinked against the early morning gloom, her eyes adjusting to the faint light trickling in through the half-broken window. This wasn’t a bedroom—it was the storeroom at the far end of the Sharma household. A space filled with dust-covered trunks, old furniture, and forgotten memories. But to Ruhi, it was home.
She sat up slowly, folding her thin blanket, and whispered her morning prayer. Soft mantras slipped from her lips, a sacred rhythm she never missed. It was her way of grounding herself—a gift of peace in a world that rarely offered her any.
Ruhi tiptoed out of the room with her towel and clothes clutched tightly, heading to the small bathroom in the back. After a quick bath, she got dressed in a simple white cotton suit over a pair of faded blue jeans. She didn’t need layers of makeup to look radiant. A tiny bindi graced her forehead, and she adorned herself with only a pair of silver jhumkas. Even with her warm brown skin tone, often ridiculed by those around her, she carried a quiet elegance that made her glow from within.
She descended the stairs quickly, knowing she had little time. The Sharma house was already stirring awake, and her duties awaited. Ruhi rushed to the kitchen, rolling out rotis, frying sabzi, and boiling tea. She worked quickly but mindfully, ensuring every corner of the house was swept clean and every plate filled before she could think about heading to college.
But peace was fleeting.
As she placed the breakfast plates on the table, her aunt Kamini’s eyes narrowed.Kamini: "Yeh kya banaya hai? Khana banane aata bhi hai ya sirf nautanki karti hai?"
Ruhi (softly): "Maafi chahti hoon, Mami ji… main abhi theek kar deti hoon—"
Before she could finish, a sharp slap landed on her cheek.
Kamini (yelling): "Maafi se pet nahi bharta! Ek kaam diya hai, woh bhi dhang se nahi hota!"
From across the table, Ritika stirred her tea with a smirk.
Ritika (sarcastically): "Itni modern ban gayi hai na college jaake… ab roti banana bhool gayi. Aur yeh makeup? Itni mehnat karke bhi bas thik-thak hi lagti hai!"
Ruhi said nothing, her eyes lowered, her voice swallowed by silence. But inside her, the storm raged on quietly.Ruhi didn’t say a word. She quietly picked up the empty plates and walked back into the kitchen. Her cheek still burned, but her hands moved steadily as she washed the dishes, one by one, in cold water. The clattering of utensils was the only sound that filled the silence she carried within.
Once done, she quickly grabbed her old, faded backpack, slipped on her sandals, and stepped out of the house.
No one said goodbye. No one ever did.
Her college wasn’t far, but she always walked, no matter the heat or the rain. Her uncle and aunt never gave her a single rupee. She survived on what she earned herself—tutoring three neighborhood kids in the evenings after college. It wasn't much, but it was enough to pay for her bus fare on bad days, buy a pen when she needed one, or a small snack when the hunger became too loud to ignore.
As she stepped out the gate, Ramesh’s voice called from behind.
Ramesh (gruffly): "Shaam tak wapas aa jana. Tumhare jaise logon ka zyada der bahar rehna theek nahi."
Ruhi (softly, without turning around): "Ji, Mama ji."
She didn’t argue. She never did. But with every step she took toward college, she walked a little faster, a little freer—because those few hours away from home were the only time she truly breathedAs Ruhi reached the usual bench near the campus garden, Saanvi and Sarthak were already waiting, talking quietly. The moment they saw her, their smiles softened—not out of politeness, but out of concern.
Ruhi sat down slowly, adjusting the strap of her old backpack. Her jhumkas swayed gently as she lowered her eyes, trying to hide the faint redness on her cheek. But she didn’t have to say a word—they already knew.
Saanvi (softly, placing her hand on Ruhi's):
"Phir se...?"
Ruhi didn’t answer, just gave a faint nod. Her silence said more than words could.
Sarthak (angrily, but controlled):
"Ek din main us ghar ke samne jaake chilla dunga. Bata raha hoon. Sabke saamne unki asliyat utaar dunga."
Ruhi (quietly, almost pleading):
"Mat karo Sarthak… woh log badlenge nahi. Sirf meri mushkilein badhengi."
Saanvi (gently):
"Tu roz toot kar bhi college aati hai, sab kuch handle karti hai... Ruhi, tu sirf strong nahi hai, tu inspiration hai."
Ruhi looked at her, surprised.
Sarthak (nodding):
"Jab tu has rahi hoti hai na, humein lagta hai ki duniya mein ab bhi asli muskurahat baaki hai."
Ruhi (with a small smile, voice trembling):
"Main... main bas yeh college ke kuch ghante jeeti hoon. Baaki to sirf guzarti hoon."
Saanvi (firmly):
"Toh hum wahi ghante tere liye aur khaas bana denge. Jitni der tu yahan hai, na woh ghar hai, na woh log. Sirf tu hai… aur hum."
Ruhi couldn't hold back the tears this time. Not because she was broken—but because for the first time that day, she felt seen. Heard. Loved.
Sarthak handed her a tissue without a word. Saanvi simply held her hand tighter.
And just like that, in the middle of a chaotic college campus, Ruhi found her peace.
After a short break near the garden, Ruhi, Saanvi, and Sarthak walked together to the art studio, tucked in the back wing of the college building. It was the only place where Ruhi truly expressed herself without fear. Her brush moved like poetry, every color revealing a piece of her soul that words never could.
Saanvi (admiring her work):
"Tu sach mein kamaal hai Ruhi. Tere brush se nikalta har rang... jaise dil ki baat ho."
Sarthak (smiling):
"Isse dekhke lagta hai ki duniya mein asli khoobsurti ab bhi bachi hai."
Ruhi just smiled and dipped her brush again. For those two hours, she felt free—not someone’s burden, not someone’s servant… just Ruhi Sharma.
---
After college, she made her way to a nearby neighborhood where she tutored three children. It wasn’t easy, especially after a long day, but every rupee she earned gave her a sense of dignity and independence.
By the time the sun started setting, she was back at her uncle’s house.
Without a word, she placed her bag in her storeroom and went straight to the kitchen. The routine was mechanical now—sweeping, mopping, folding clothes, preparing tea, setting the dinner. Her hands moved fast, but her mind was far away.
As the family sat at the table, she served them quietly.
Kamini (coldly):
"Rotiyaan thandi hain. Dimaag toh college mein hi chhod aayi hogi."
Ritika (snorting): "Ya phir kisi ladke ke saath busy thi... tumhare jaise ladkiyon se toh kuch bhi ummeed ki ja sakti hai."
Ruhi said nothing. She never did. She cleared the dishes, washed them silently, wiped down the counters, and finally escaped to her tiny storeroom.
The door creaked shut behind her. She pulled out her books and finished her college assignment on the floor, her back resting against the wall. Her eyes stung with exhaustion, but her pen didn’t stop.
At last, she put her notebook away and lay down on her thin mattress.
She stared at the ceiling for a moment, her fingers brushing over the faded photo of her parents tucked under her pillow.
Ruhi (softly, to herself): "Maa... Papa... aap hote toh sab kuch alag hota. Aapki beti thak gayi hai..."
A single tear slipped down her cheek.But even then, she didn’t cry loudly. She just turned to the side, held the photo close, and let the silence wrap around her.
Sleep came quietly, wrapping her in memories, in dreams of a home that once was.
Morning at Rathore Mansion – Discipline with Care
The private gym of the Rathore Mansion was already alive with the sound of weights and a steady breath. Abhimaan Singh Rathore, calm yet powerful, moved through his workout with razor-sharp focus. This was his hour—silent, strict, personal.
At 6:00 AM sharp, the gym door opened quietly.
Veer Rathore, younger, introverted, respectful, stepped in. He never interrupted, just nodded slightly in greeting and began his warm-up.
Abhimaan (without turning):
"Aaj waqt par aaye ho."
Veer (softly, with a faint smile):
"Routine pakad raha hoon, Bhai."
Abhimaan (still serious, but lighter):
"Accha hai. Apne liye karna shuru karo—not for me."
There was a faint pause. Veer looked at his brother with quiet admiration. This was Abhimaan's way of showing care—measured, rare, but genuine.
---
After an intense workout, Abhimaan returned to his room. He dressed in a crisp black shirt and a tailored grey waistcoat. Everything in his room was aligned—just like his mindset.
By 7:30 AM, he stepped into the sprawling dining hall, where the family was gathering for breakfast.
Dadi Sa was reciting a shlok, seated with grace and command. Dada Sa watched the business news with a cup of black tea. Their father, Virendra Singh Rathore, was checking his morning updates, and Meenakshi, their warm-hearted mother, set the table with affection.
Meenakshi (smiling):
"Beta, nashta lagwa du?"
Abhimaan (nodding respectfully):
"Haan Maa, aap baithiye. Main le loonga."
Soon, Veer entered and took the seat beside Abhimaan.
Abhimaan (without looking at him, but softer):
"Tu thak gaya hoga. Aaj zyada workout mat karna."
Veer (slightly surprised):
"Main theek hoon Bhai... par thank you."
Just then, the breakfast table was lit up by Rhea Rathore, the youngest and most talkative sibling. She bounced into the room wearing bright colors and even brighter energy.
Rhea:
"Good morning sabko! Aur Bhai... seriously? Breakfast bhi bina smile ke?"
Abhimaan (looking up at her, slightly amused):
"Tu smile kar leti hai sabke liye, mere share ki bhi."
Rhea (grinning):
"Aur tumhare liye kaun karega?"
Abhimaan (gently):
"Tum hi toh ho."
He passed her the toast without another word, but the corner of his lips twitched—a rare sign of affection from him.
Even in his silence, there was a quiet protectiveness—the way his eyes lingered on Rhea to make sure she ate properly, the way his voice softened slightly when speaking to Veer, and the way he checked on his mother without asking.
He didn’t have to say much. His presence said enough.
As the family settled into breakfast, a moment of silence passed—only the faint sound of clinking plates and distant birds outside.
Virendra Singh Rathore set down his phone and looked at Abhimaan.
Virendra (serious tone):
"Beta, Kal Dubai wale investors ke saath—"
Before he could complete his sentence, Meenakshi gently interrupted him.
Meenakshi (softly, placing a hand on his arm):
"Virenji, nashtay ke waqt toh kaam ki baat mat kijiye... bachche yeh waqt humare saath bitaate hain."
Dadi Sa (stern but loving):
"Kaam ka koi theek waqt hota hai. Subah ke khane ke saath chinta nahi, shanti honi chahiye."
Virendra sighed and nodded, not daring to argue with either of the women in his life.
Virendra (lightly):
"Thik hai, thik hai. Baad mein baat karenge."
Abhimaan gave a silent glance of appreciation to his mother before going back to his tea.
Meanwhile, on the other end of the table, Rhea leaned towards Veer, who was quietly nibbling his toast.
Rhea (teasingly):
"Toh Mr. Introvert, office mein ab tak kisi se baat ki ya abhi bhi bas files se dosti chal rahi hai?"
Veer (calmly, not looking up):
"Kaam ki jagah pe kaam karta hoon, Rhea. Gossip tumhare liye chhod diya hai."
Rhea (giggling):
"Aww, so boring! Kabhi toh kisi ko smile karke hello bol do yaar... logo ko darr lagta hai tumse!"
Veer (dryly, but with a faint smile):
"Perfect. Waise bhi log zyada close aa jayein toh problem hoti hai."
Rhea (dramatic sigh):
"Kya karein, meri family mein ek se ek intense characters bhare pade hain!"
Veer shook his head slightly but didn’t respond. That’s how they were—Rhea, all sunshine, and Veer, the quiet moonlight.
At the head of the table, Abhimaan observed silently. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes rested for a brief moment on both his siblings—making sure they were okay in their own unique ways.
Meenakshi (softly):
"Veer beta, tu thak gaya lagta hai... office ka kaam zyada toh nahi ho gaya?"
Veer (respectfully):
"Nahi Maa, main handle kar raha hoon."
Before he could say more, Meenakshi looked sharply toward Virendra and then at Abhimaan, her tone now more firm.
Meenakshi (warningly):
"Mujhe pata hai tum dono milke isko zyada kaam de rahe ho. Main keh rahi hoon—ab se kuch dino tak halka rakho iska workload."
Virendra (nodding quickly):
"Thik hai Meenu, tu keh rahi hai toh dekh lenge."
But Abhimaan, ever calm, leaned forward and spoke with quiet resolve.
Abhimaan (seriously):
"Maa, agar Veer ko khud ka ek makaan banana hai toh ek pathar uthane se darr nahi hona chahiye. Office mein kaam nahi, opportunities mil rahi hain usse. Aur main chahta hoon woh har chance le."
Meenakshi (with a frown):
"Par uski sehat bhi zaruri hai, Abhimaan."
Before things could escalate, a loud voice cut across the table.
Rhea (excitedly):
"Attention please! Meri taraf se ek badi announcement hai!"
Everyone turned toward her, the shift in mood immediate.
Rhea (beaming): "Hamare college mein annual fest hone wala hai, aur guess what? Is baar Rathore Empire is sponsoring the whole event!"
Dadi Sa (smiling faintly): "Isiliye itni chhoti se ladki itni uchi awaaz mein chillayi."
Rhea (laughing):
"Arey Dadi Sa, news badi thi! Ab aap sabko aana padega—especially Bhai!"
Abhimaan (raising an eyebrow): "Mujhe kya zarurat hai fest mein jaane ki?"
Rhea (grinning): "Kyuki aap Rathore Empire ke crown prince ho aur sabse bade sponsor bhi!"
Veer (quiet chuckle): "Trap ho gaye Bhai..."
Abhimaan (low mutter): "Hmm..."
Even in that reluctant "hmm," there was the faintest twitch of a smile. The day had started with tension, but like always—Rhea knew how to soften the atmosphere just in time. After breakfast, Abhimaan and Veer made their way through the palatial corridors of the Rathore mansion toward the grand hall. There, on a luxurious velvet sofa, sat Ratan Singh Rathore, aka Dada Sa, dressed in a crisp white kurta-pyjama, a designer shawl casually thrown over his shoulder, and dark glasses still on — TV blasting news about stock markets and political drama.
One leg crossed, one arm resting like a king — Ranveer Singh vibes, full-on.
Dada Sa (without looking at them):
"Toh finally time mil gaya Raja Babu aur uske saathi ko Dada se milne ka?"
Abhimaan (calmly):
"Hamesha time hota hai, Dada Sa."
Veer (smiling faintly):
"Aapke bina toh din ki shuruaat hi nahi hoti."
Dada Sa (grinning, removing his glasses dramatically):
"Bas... yeh hai izzat... yeh hai parivaar!"
He gestured toward the TV where a politician was giving a speech.
Dada Sa:
"Yeh dekho, saare neta acting kar rahe hain. Lekin asli hero toh hum the, hain, aur rahenge."
Veer chuckled softly, while Abhimaan remained composed, though his eyes sparkled slightly.
Dada Sa (to Abhimaan):
"Empire sambhal raha hai achhe se, ya aur goliyaan chalwani padengi?"
Abhimaan (firmly):
"Shabd ka asar goli se zyada hota hai ab, Dada Sa."
Dada Sa (nodding proudly):
"Aree wah! Lagta hai Bade Rathore ban gaya tu."
He looked at Veer, then patted the seat next to him.
Dada Sa:
"Aaja, chhote... bata tujhe kaun si museebat mein daala abhimaan ne?"
Veer (sitting, quietly):
"Nahi Dada Sa, sab theek chal raha hai."
Dada Sa (leaning back dramatically):
"Bas... yehi toh problem hai. Jab sab theek chale, toh kuch na kuch galat hone wala hota hai."
Just then, Rhea ran in from the corridor, waving her phone.
Rhea (playfully):
"Dada Sa! Aapka dialogue record kiya... Insta pe viral hone wala hai!"
Dada Sa (raising an eyebrow):
"Main toh kab ka viral ho gaya tha, bachchi... abhi duniya catch up kar rahi hai."
Everyone shared a light laugh.
Abhimaan (checking time):
"Chalein Veer."
Veer nodded, and both stood up.
Dada Sa (saluting with two fingers):
"Jao mere warriors... aur duniya ko yaad dilao... ki Rathore naam ka wazan kya hota hai."
They bowed slightly and walked off, the Rathore legacy echoing behind them with Dada Sa’s charisma filling the hall.
And that's how both the lead started their day completely unaware of each other.
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