CHAPTER IX SHATTERED GLASSES ARE SHARPER
The Rajvanshi estate was the epitome of elegance, a sprawling masterpiece that seemed to leap straight from the pages of an architectural digest. Lush lawns rolled like green waves, perfect rows of manicured bushes lined the paths, and the faint scent of lilies wafted through the air-an olfactory signature that the house staff claimed was harvested from Madam Vedika's personal garden.
Yet, Ishaani felt like the perfect contrast to this idyllic setting-emotional steamrolled, spiritually rearranged, and perpetually sleep-deprived. Nothing about her resembled the picturesque surroundings, and she was painfully aware of it.
Nayonica, her ever-mischievous friend, parked the car in the expansive driveway, her sunglasses still perched on her nose. "It helps me maintain a mysterious aura," she claimed. Ishaani knew it was merely a shield against the withering glare of Tara Kapoor.
"You absolutely sure about this?" Nayonica asked, killing the engine yet delaying the exit. "Because if your hot professor-sister's-best-friend starts throwing hands, I'm not covering the medical bills."
Ishaani groaned, dragging herself out of the car and wincing at the suggestion. "She's not my professor, Nayon."
"She feels like one, all that pent-up academia and judgment glistening in her eyes," Nayonica teased, shaking her head.
"Can we not-"
"-and I swear she looks at you like she's grading your very existence."
"I said, not."
But Nayonica's grin only widened as she expertly looped her arm around Ishaani's shoulders, a bold declaration that she intended to stir trouble. "Relax, shona. I got you." (Shona- a Bengali endearment)
Ishaani recognized that tone all too well. It was the unmistakable "I'm about to cause problems on purpose" tone.
Stepping into the marble-floored hallway, Vedika's warm voice cascaded from the living room, echoing an all-too-familiar authoritative warmth. "Ishuuu! Where did you disappear to, bacha?"
Ishaani froze mid-step. "Oh! Uh-"
Before she could concoct a believable excuse, Nayonica smoothly intervened, dropping her arm from Ishaani's shoulders to her waist like a seasoned diplomat.
"That's on me, Vedika di," she said, politeness dripping from every syllable yet revealing nothing.
"I wasn't well last night, and Ishaani refused to leave me alone. Didn't want to disturb anyone else."
Immediately, Vedika's expression transformed, all concern and no suspicion. "Oh, sweetheart, are you alright now?"
"Better, thanks to your little Hannah Montana here." Nayonica nudged Ishaani playfully, as if they were in on an inside joke.
Ishaani managed a weak smile, silently mouthing Hannah Montana? But Vedika only laughed, lacing their conversation with warmth.
And then-
Tara entered.
Her hair was an immaculate cascade, styled to lethal perfection, a white button-up meticulously tucked into tailored trousers, sleeves rolled up with purpose. The glint of her wristwatch caught the morning light like some foreboding trophy.
Her cool, gray gaze slid from Ishaani to Nayonica-once, twice-holding on to the latter just long enough to suggest something akin to accusation.
"Nayonica," Tara stated, her voice barely concealing an undercurrent of ice. "Didn't expect to see you here."
"Oh, I'm full of surprises, Ms. Kapoor." Nayonica smiled sweetly, moving a fraction closer to Ishaani like a protective barrier. "You know, I didn't realize Ishi could cook so well until last night."
The way Nayonica said Ishi-unabashedly intimate, almost as if she were sharing a secret-made Tara's jaw tighten ever so slightly.
"Well, she's improved, hasn't she? Finally learning to be domestic," Vedika interjected with her typical warmth.
"She's a fast learner," Nayonica countered, a wicked smirk forming. "When properly motivated."
Ishaani, standing between the two women, felt the air thicken, her pulse racing. "Nayonica," she warned, her voice a mix of exasperation and desperation.
"What?" Nayonica replied with exaggerated innocence.
Tara's eyebrow arched sharply. "Motivated by what, exactly?"
"Oh, you know." Nayonica crossed her arms, her smirk a clever challenge. "Good company, proper encouragement, unbiased emotional support."
The retort landed with a resounding thud, and Tara's gaze darkened momentarily, just enough to acknowledge the implication swirling in the air.
Ishaani cleared her throat, desperately seeking to divert the escalating tension. "I-I should go freshen up."
But Nayonica didn't remove her arm from Ishaani's waist. "I'll walk her up."
"That won't be necessary," Ishaani shot back coolly.
"Oh, but it will," Nayonica replied, perfectly matching the other woman's tone, her smile suggesting mischief. "I don't want her fainting halfway to the stairs. She didn't sleep much."
The jab landed uncomfortably, and for an instant, Tara's expression flickered, revealing that she knew exactly why Ishaani had spent her night in restless turmoil.
Vedika blinked between them, finally grasping that something was amiss, but before she could inquire, Ishaani seized the opportunity, tugging Nayonica away.
________
Once upstairs, the corridor outside Ishaani's room transformed into their private stage. Nayonica burst into laughter, the sound infectious and bright. "Oh my god, did you see her face?"
"I hate you," Ishaani hissed, half-hiding her face behind her hands as mortification flooded her.
"No, you don't." Nayonica's smirk was insufferable. "I'm your emotional support chaos demon."
"You're certainly something," Ishaani replied, feeling the weight of embarrassment slowly lift.
"I swear she was gonna strangle me with that Prada belt, Me or you!" Nayonica wheezed between giggles.
"Don't."
"Hot and angry. The classic older woman aesthetic."
"Nayonica!"
Nayonica leaned in closer, her voice low and conspiratorial. "Don't worry, Ishu. She can glare all she wants. But she's not the only one who knows how to play dangerous games."
Ishaani groaned softly, the weight of her words settling in like a storm cloud. "Can you not call her that?"
"What, she-devil?" Nayonica raised an eyebrow, a playful glimmer in her eyes. "Then what do you suggest? 'The woman who broke my best friend's heart and still gets to breathe the same oxygen?'"
"Nayonica!"
Her laughter rang out, warm and rich, reverberating off the ornate walls of the mansion. "Relax, my boxer. I'm kidding. Mostly."
There was always a "mostly" with Nayonica. It was both her charm and her curse.
As they approached the large, ornate doors, Nayonica's hand brushed against Ishaani's knuckles-just a fleeting touch, not quite an embrace, yet lingering in that space between innocence and something more electric. Ishaani froze, heart stumbling in her chest as her gaze flicked to the side.
There she was: Tara.
Leaning effortlessly against the archway of the living room, arms crossed, a picture of composure cloaked in that familiar air of detached curiosity. Her gaze swept over them, calm and assessing, sending a message loud and clear: I see you.
"I see her too," Nayonica seemed to think as she smiled mischievously, feigning indifference. "So," she announced loudly, stepping closer to Ishaani, her tone dripping with mischief, "when will I see you again, champ?"
"I can't believe you're-"
"Don't 'I can't believe you're' me," Nayonica interjected, her eyes sparkling with delight. "You still owe me dinner for that emotional meltdown last night."
Ishaani's cheeks flushed a deep crimson. "I do not!"
"You absolutely do."
Then, in a move that sent a rush of warmth flooding through Ishaani, Nayonica leaned in closer, her hand rising to smooth out an imaginary wrinkle in Ishaani's hoodie.
Her fingers brushed against the side of Ishaani's neck, light and intimate as if they were lovers rather than friends.
"Don't get into trouble without me," came the soft, low whisper, laden with a hint of something that stung.
Behind them, Tara's jaw tightened, barely concealed irritation flaring like a warning fire.
"Vedika di!" Nayonica chirped brightly as she pivoted, her charm dialed up to perfection. "Thank you for having me over. And sorry again for borrowing your little sister overnight."
Vedika looked up from her steaming cup of coffee, her smile warm and genuine. "Anytime, dear! You're practically family."
"Oh, trust me," Nayonica said, casting a quick, audacious glance back at Ishaani-and inevitably, Tara-"I take that very seriously."
The audacity of her words hung thick in the air, a daring challenge that buzzed like static electricity. If looks could peel skin, Tara's glare would have left Nayonica burned to ashes.
"Drive safe," Vedika said, blissfully unaware of the charged atmosphere swirling around them.
"Oh, I always do," Nayonica replied, stepping closer to Ishaani one last time. She tilted her head, the sweetness in her voice laced with a daring intimacy. "Bye, Ishi."
The way she said it felt like a secret, a challenge, igniting a fire within Tara's cool exterior that threatened to consume them all. Then, in a moment that seemed to slow down, Nayonica winked-a quick, playful gesture that cut through the tension like a knife.
Ishaani wished for the ground to open up and swallow her whole, because Vedika had averted her annoyance clad orbs towards Ishaani.
Vedika leaned against the doorway, arms folded, her face now caught somewhere between irritation and fear. The kind of fear that doesn't scream - it whispers. "Ishaani," she said flatly, "stop walking around like this city is still what it used to be. It isn't."
Ishaani blinked. "What are you talking about?"
Vedika's laugh was short and cruel. "You don't read the full stories, do you? Just headlines and heartbreak quotes on Instagram?" She crossed the room slowly, her heels clicking like punctuation marks.
"Girls are disappearing. Not in fairy-tale ways - in vans, in parties, from stations, from schools.
The police files say 'missing,' but we've seen the ledgers.
Tara and I have been sitting in meetings with NGOs all week, tracing transport records and so-called donation routes.
They're selling them, Ishaani. Delhi's daughters. Delhi's children."
Ishaani froze, throat closing. "That- that can't affect-"
"It can, and it does," Vedika cut in, her voice low, steady, deadly calm.
"The same men who shake our hands at galas, the same ones who donate to 'educate the girl child,' they're laundering money through orphan foundations and beauty agencies.
Tara and I are trying to tear the whole thing apart without getting our own heads served on silver platters. "
She took a breath, looked at Ishaani properly. "So when you sneak out late at night, or vanish without telling anyone - you think you're proving a point, being independent. You're not. You're walking through a city built on the bones of girls who did the same."
The silence that followed felt raw. Ishaani's pulse hammered in her ears. Her stomach twisted. "You think I don't care?" she whispered.
"I think you don't see it," Vedika said, quieter now. "Because you're still trying to live like it's not right outside the gates. But it is. You can't fix the world by being blind to it. You can only survive by understanding exactly how dirty it is."
"Half the men at that gala last week had someone's blood on their cufflinks. The same ones who call us 'brave girls' for speaking out. Tara's keeping the lights on in those NGO offices; I'm fighting them in the courtroom. You stay alive by staying home at night. That's all I want."
And all Ishaani mustered up was a nod as Vedika eyed her in the protective older-sister way.
__________
The recess bell shrieked its freedom cry, cutting through the stillness of the classroom like a burst of laughter.
The courtyard at MHS came alive with the joyous chaos of childhood, a beautiful disorder wrapped in crisp school uniforms. Jump ropes thwacked against the ground, tiny shoes pounded the pavement, and the air buzzed with the high-pitched squeals of exuberant energy - a thrilling blend of too much sugar and too little supervision.
Under the sprawling branches of the old neem tree, a gaggle of girls in hairbands circled one another like planets around a sun, fierce in their debate over who would grace the throne as the princess.
"I'm the princess because I found the tiara first!" little Saarakshi declared, her hands firmly planted on her hips and her chin held high, a queen in the making if ever there was one.
"No fair!" squeaked Sparshi, her pigtails bouncing with indignation. "You're always the princess! I want to be the princess this time!"
"Fine," Saarakshi sighed dramatically, as if bestowing a monumental royal favor. "You can be my lady-in-waiting."
Sparshi gasped, a melodramatic breath that echoed the universal language of playground betrayal.
Meanwhile, perched on the low stone bench, a tiny whirlwind of determination named Nayonica Sen surveyed the unfolding chaos with a mixture of disdain and amusement.
Even at seven, she carried with her an air of authority.
Her white socks were pulled to perfection, and her hair, defying both gravity and convention, was styled in sharp, striking pigtails.
Every boy they approached had recoiled in horror, as if the mere thought of pretending to love a girl could unleash a contagion of cooties.
"No way, I'm not holding her hand!" one boy yelled, aghast.
"I'll get germs!" another added, his face contorted in exaggerated disgust.
The girls groaned collectively. Saarakshi pouted. Sparshi crossed her arms, a fortress of defiance.
Then Nayonica, fed up with the antics of her peers and possessing the fierceness of a lioness, stood up, brushed the crumbs from her skirt, and pointed directly at Ishaani Rajvanshi, who was itself oblivious, lost in the delicious joy of a half-eaten sandwich.
"Ishi will do it," Nayonica declared, the authority in her voice unequivocal.
Little Ishaani blinked, confusion evident on her face. "Me?"
"Yes, you," Nayonica affirmed, her tone reminiscent of a ruler issuing a decree. "You're strong, you run the fastest...." Her words bellowed a wave of incredulous stares over her way, making her redefine her words, "- maybe not the fastest.... and you don't whine. You'll be the prince."
Some girl squinted in doubt. "But she's a girl!"
"So?" Nayonica snapped back. "She's my prince."
That settled it.
Ishaani shrugged, her heart pounding with an unexpected thrill. She stood tall, puffing out her chest as if knighted on the spot. "Fine. But only if I get the sword."
"You'll get two," Nayonica said, a grin spreading across her face, igniting the energy that filled the air.
They rehearsed in the dusty courtyard, the sun casting playful shadows as Saarakshi clutched her pretend pearls, Sparshi fussed over her makeshift "castle," and the ever-commanding Nayonica directed with zealous enthusiasm, as if she were Spielberg in Velcro shoes.
Ishaani thrived in the role- wielding her invisible sword and embodying a bravery that made her the protector of her princess, all while flashing a grin that revealed a gap where two teeth used to be.
But then came Rohan - the class terror from 2A - swaggering through the chaos with a smirk that announced trouble. He leaned over with a sneer, his eyes glinting with malice.
"Playing princess again?" he taunted, his voice dripping with derision. "You all think you're so pretty - especially you," he said, jabbing a finger at Nayonica. "Bossy girl. You act like queen, huh?"
Nayonica rolled her eyes as she often did when facing the absurdity of his antics. "Go away, Rohan."
But he didn't. Instead, he reached out, tugging at one of her pigtails, a move meant to provoke.
"Princess."
Sparshi jumped in, her small frame packing all the courage of the world as she tried to push him back, but he stood taller, louder, and he relished the chaos he created. Saarakshi froze, caught between outrage and fear.
And then, seemingly out of nowhere, Ishaani - the fierce little girl with scuffed knees and a band-aid on her elbow - stepped forward, her expression transforming from innocent to fierce.
"Touch her again," she warned, her voice steady and serious, radiating a deep-rooted courage that only a seven-year-old could muster, "and I'll punch you."
Rohan snorted in disbelief. "You? You're a girl."
"Exactly," Ishaani shot back, and before anyone could react, she swung her fist and punched him square in the shoulder.
Gasps rippled through the courtyard as if someone had set off fireworks, disbelief painted across every little face. Rohan stumbled back, clutching his shoulder, tears brimming in his eyes.
"You'll get in trouble!" Tara hissed, her voice a frantic whisper, but Ishaani simply shrugged, a defiant smile breaking across her face.
"Worth it," she said, shaking out her fist as if she'd just done the most exhilarating thing in the world.
Nayonica stared at her wide-eyed, caught between shock and admiration, then burst into a giggle - high, bright, and slightly boastful. "My prince really did punch the villain."
Ishaani smiled back, the kind that lit up her entire face, rubbing her nose shyly. "Told you I would."
Later, when they stood in the classroom to reenact their play, Nayonica threw the script out the window. As Ishaani, the prince, charged in to save her from the confines of a cardboard dragon, Nayonica, in a spontaneous burst of emotion, leaned in and pressed a quick peck on Ishaani's cheek.
Half the class erupted in squeals, the sound bypassing typical childhood innocence and breaking into uncharted territory of scandal, causing Ishaani's cheeks to bloom with embarrassment, turning a shade redder than the school's initials on the logo .
"Mrs. Fernandes!" came the desperate call of her students, laughter bubbling over as the teacher hurriedly attempted to maintain order, her face a mixture of amusement and exasperation.
But later, as they sat together on the school bus, their shoulders brushing and legs swinging rhythmically to the movement of the vehicle, Nayonica leaned in close, her voice dropping to a sweet whisper. "You'll always be my prince, Ishu."
Ishaani, caught in the buoyant thrill of friendship and the flutter of something deeper, felt her cheeks heat up. "Then you'll always be my princess."
The morning light spilled into Ishaani's room, casting a warm glow on the chaos of her unmade bed and scattered clothes.
She lay there, a tangle of sheets and tangled thoughts, her face half-buried in a pillow still damp from last night's tears.
The silence was heavy, the kind that made her feel like time itself had hit the "pause" button.
Just as she was about to surrender to the weight of it all, her phone buzzed with a soft vibration against the nightstand.
It was Nayonica.
Nayonica ??: look what I found.
Curiosity piqued, Ishaani opened the message, and there it was-a faded, grainy photo from 2009.
It was one of those snapshots that seemed to capture a moment so innocent it could almost melt her heart.
Tiny Nayonica, chin raised high, her plastic tiara teetering at a precarious angle.
And right beside her, the most gloriously ridiculous sight: Tiny Ishaani, cardboard sword in hand and a paper crown lopsided on her head, dirt on her shoes and a Bandaid on her elbow, the bravest little fool on the playground.
Her heart twisted as she read the caption beneath the image.
My prince ???
For a heartbeat, Ishaani couldn't breathe.
That innocent memory rushed back in waves-pure, unguarded, filled with laughter and a tenderness that felt like a warm blanket on a cold day.
She stared at the picture, half-expecting those seven-year-old versions of themselves to leap back to life, giggling and running across the courtyard, oblivious to the heartbreak and betrayals that adulthood would later introduce.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, her heart racing in a completely different way than it had the night before. She typed:
- still your prince?
Then paused, deleting it just as quickly as she had written it. Was she really ready to dive into that territory? She composed herself and typed again:
- haha where did you find this?
Before she could press send, another message pinged through.
Nayonica ??: my mom had it in an old scrapbook. remember that boy you punched?
A smile broke through Ishaani's watery eyes.
-of course I do. he cried.
Nayonica ??: and you got in trouble. for me.
The weight of that "for me" settled between them like a tangible thing, a shared secret that bound them even through the digital screen. It felt heavier than it should have, resonating with emotions both familiar and strange.
Then Nayonica struck again, her tone teasing yet sincere.
Nayonica ??: you always did, didn't you?
Ishaani's smile faltered, her heart racing. Yes, she always did. Took the fall, the hit, the blame, and the ache. For her.
A gentle ping announced another incoming photo. This one was a selfie. Nayonica beamed at the camera, bare-faced and carefree, her hair a messy bun, that signature lazy smirk playing at her lips. Her eyes sparkled-tired yet full of life.
Nayonica ??: i'm still your princess though, aren't i? ??
Ishaani's breath caught in her throat as she gazed at the screen, her thumb hovering like a spell on the verge of being cast. A wave of nostalgia crashed over her, intertwined with guilt and a longing that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.
Ishaani ??: always.
Ishaani ?? : ??
She pressed send, a thrill of panic racing through her as the message turned "read." The sudden acknowledgment sent her heart into a frenzy, thudding like it wanted to escape her chest and dance across the room.
This was more than a light-hearted childhood joke now. Somehow, the words that once belonged to cardboard swords and carefree playground days had evolved, twisting into something deeper, more complicated-something with teeth.
As her phone dimmed beside her, Ishaani whispered into the empty room, "My princess," savoring the words with a chuckle, like a forgotten spell she hadn't meant to recite again.