episode

Amaira Pov

It was the sweet breath of the north wind that have woke me up maybe due to I have forgotten to draw the curtain of the window, which reminds me of the call of Devika aunty from yesterday. The sun is yet to rise, just like my next decision. I haven't replied her about wedding invitation. The course of actions by her are giving me a headache. My mixed through doesn't help me any further through. The anxious feeling, Strung-out through, and Perplexity. Why would she reach out to me in place of her best friend. What an unusual statement made by her too. i am damn sure I will need a cup of coffee to calm my train of thought now. 

Eventually after the dilemma, I decided to get ready, garb  a cup of coffee and deal with my current problems which needs my attention at most. "Good  morning Salim, aur unki jaan" (Salim and his life)  blows a flying kiss towards a women who was already having her breakfast with her husband, "Anarkali", I greeted them as it the first thing in my routine." Where is Dramatic Ki-Vihaan" I asked while changing the sentence in mid-way. knowing that I will get a lecture for calling him dramatic king from the self proclaim regal queen aka mom. Not by words but by her actions. After I have reached the dinning table, I sees that the breakfast is as usual seems like a normal breakfast today, no royal drama, no dramatic explanations for dosa and parathas to be eaten together I chuckle as I thought to myself. I settled myself in my usual place at dinning table and grabs an apple while roaming my eyes around. The structure orientation of my house is kinda similar to every house hold family. A Romantic doting  husband aka prince Salim aka my father;

 NISHANT RAI (Rajkumar Salim)

At sixty, dad carries his age lightly, as if the years had learned to walk beside him rather than weigh him down. There was an unmistakable enthusiasm in the way he spoke—hands animated, eyes alive with curiosity—an energy that refused to dim despite the quiet creases time had etched into his face.

He is a man deeply in love with life, and even more deeply devoted to his family. As a husband, dad unbelievable  love was a daily practice, not a promise made once and forgotten. He remembered small things—how his wife liked her tea, the songs that softened her silences, the way her smile changed when she felt truly heard. Their marriage was not perfect, but it was patient, held together by respect, laughter, and years of choosing each other again and again. As a father, my dad was always  gentle yet unwavering. He did not command his children's lives; he stood beside us. He celebrated our victories loudly and absorbed our failures quietly, never allowing disappointment to replace affection. To me, he is not just a parent but a safe place—someone whose presence felt like coming home. Dad's enthusiasm is not loud bravado but a steady warmth. He finds joy in morning walks, in conversations that wandered, in ideas that sparked possibility. Even in moments of fatigue, he believes that growing older meant growing deeper, not smaller. What defines my dad  most is his ability to remain emotionally available in a world that often demanded hardness. He listens more than he speak, loves without conditions, and carries his past not as a burden, but as wisdom. In the quiet rhythm of his life, he became the kind of man others leaned on—unassuming, steadfast, and unforgettable. 

and his royal princess, Anarkali aka my mom. 

SHIVIKA RAI ( Salim Ki Anarkali)

At forty-seven, Shivika Rai, my mom, is a beautiful contradiction—dramatic in expression, mischievous in spirit, and deeply rooted in her role as the heart of the household. Where others sees a housewife, mom carries an entire world within her walls, shaping daily life with emotion, humor, and an unmistakable flair. She speaks with her hands, her eyes, her pauses. Every story she told grew slightly larger than life, embellished with theatrical sighs or playful exaggerations. Drama, for mom, is not chaos—it is color. It is how she makes  ordinary moments feel memorable. Her mischief surfaced in teasing remarks, sudden jokes, and the way she could turn even tension into laughter with a well-timed smile. As a mother, mom was and is a fiercely attentive and emotionally expressive person. She worries loudly, loves deeply, and celebrates her children with proud enthusiasm. She has an instinct for knowing when something was wrong, even before words were spoken, and she never hesitated to step in—sometimes with warmth, sometimes with overwhelming affection. Her marriage to Salim, I meant dad is a delicate, enduring balance. Where he is calm and grounding, she is vibrant and unpredictable. She tests his patience playfully, challenges his seriousness, and reminds him that joy did not need logic. In return, he steadies her storms, offering reassurance when emotions ran high. Together, they have created a rhythm built on contrast—his quiet strength and her expressive soul. Mom found purpose in nurturing our home, not as a duty but as a creative act. Every meal, every arrangement, every tradition carries her personal touch. Beneath her dramatic exterior lay resilience, sacrifice, and an unspoken strength—one that held the family together even on the days she pretends she wasn't strong at all. Anarkali is not merely a supporting presence in the story of others. She is energy, emotion, and life itself—unapologetically vivid, deeply loving, and impossible to ignore. 

Nahin, mujhe nahin pata, main tujhe jaldi hi bata doonga. (No, I don't know, I will inform you soon), Rajkumar aakhir mein aa gaye hain (the prince have finally arrived) I spoke as soon I spotted Vihaan on staircase on his mobile while speaking on call. received a glare instead of reply. "Rude" I mumbled. "toh Kya aapaki neend poore hohigayi Maharaj ?" ( so did your sleep was over majesty ?) mom ask while raising her one brow and speaking in dramatic tone. sighing-ly " yes mom", he replied. "Good morning dad and angry bird" he greeted. we just nodded in response not going to stop mom from her up coming lecture to Vihaan. "Vihaan" mom called sweetly, so sweet that made us freighted. "I have a meeting to attend, bye shivi" dad kissed mom checks, and with that he ran away from the crisis. vihaan with a puppy look was looking at me to safe him but sorry bro I don't want to be involved, so I just ignored him. vihaan beta Kya aap bataana chaahenge ki aap pooree raat bina soe kya khel rahe the?, aur aapake game ki receipt aaye hai, wait a moment, usaka naam kya tha phir se, right, BGM?. ( son will you like to say what was you doing all night playing, without sleeping? and a receipt have arrived, wait a moment what was it called again, yeah BGM?. Mom spoke with almost killing him with eyes. If glares could be used to kill then vihaan would have been dead already. The look of vihaan doesn't help him any further, he was on the way to be hospitalized not for staying up for taking the lecture continues without any break. it went on for more than 2 hours, poor vihaan cant say anything too, I quietly left before the lecture could be directed towards me in next stance. 

VIHAAN RAI ( Dramatic king/ Rajkumari)

Vihaan Rai, the youngest of the Rai family, twenty-one years old  lived between two worlds—and mastered both with remarkable ease. To the outside world, he was a movie actor and model, polished, disciplined, and intimidatingly focused. On set, he spoke little, observed closely, and demanded precision—from himself first, and from everyone else

second. Fame had taught him professionalism early, and he wore it like armor.At home, however, that armor fell away.Within the walls of the Rai household, Vihaan is drama, laughter, and endless mischief. He teasing me relentlessly, inventing nicknames and playful provocations, fully aware of how easily he could draw a reaction from me. Yet beneath the jokes lay fierce protectiveness. No one was allowed to criticize me—not friends, not strangers, not even family—except him. His teasing was affectionate, his loyalty unshakable. Vihaan's dramatic streak came naturally, inherited in fragments from mom's expressive flair and sharpened by his life in cinema. He knew how to exaggerate a moment, deliver a line with perfect timing, and turn ordinary conversations into performances—especially when it earned him laughter from mom and dad. Despite his success, Vihaan remained grounded by his family.  Salim's steady wisdom kept him disciplined, Anarkali's emotional warmth kept him human. Fame never softened his sense of responsibility; if anything, it made him more vigilant. He believed talent demanded respect, and respect required hard work. What made Vihaan Rai compelling was the contrast he carried so effortlessly—strict professionalism balanced by familial humor, public restraint softened by private affection. He is the son and brother who made the house louder, brighter, and occasionally chaotic, but also the one who would stand tallest when family needs him most.

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