"Princess, come on, wake up, baby," came the gentle, coaxing voice of none other than Manoj Khanna, the CEO of Khanna Industries — a man feared in boardrooms, but reduced to a soft, pleading father in his daughter's bedroom.

"It's already 12:45 noon, darling. You can sleep all you want after this, but please eat something first. Skipping meals is not good for my little girl's health."

This had become something of a daily ritual in the Khanna mansion. No matter how powerful or busy the day was, Manoj Khanna would always take time out to personally wake up his not-so-morning-person daughter. Anjali Khanna, the apple of his eye and the soul of their home who simply refused to wake up before the sun shifted west.

Underneath a thick comforter, a lump stirred — the only sign of life coming from beneath the royal pink duvet.

Manoj sighed, amused. He knew this game well. The slight twitch. The dramatic cover-hiding. The silence. She was awake... but pretending otherwise. Classic.

Just then, Rohan, his 21-year-old second son, popped into the room.

"There you are, Dad. Been looking for you," he said — then paused, eyes locking onto the bed-shaped burrito that was his sister.

A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes.

Without a word, he tiptoed in, pressed a finger to his lips at Manoj, then—

WHOOSH!
The comforter flew into the air like a magician's cape, revealing a very confused and very sleepy Anjali blinking in shock.

"ROHAAAN BHAI!" she shrieked — but before she could dive back under the covers, he launched an all-out tickle attack.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!" Rohan teased as she wriggled and laughed helplessly.

Moments later, another figure leaned against the door frame. Rahul, the eldest Khanna sibling, now 23 and usually the calmest of the trio, raised an eyebrow at the chaos inside — and casually strolled in to join the madness.

"Need reinforcements?" he asked, already reaching out to grab Anjali's foot.

"TRAITORS! I'll disown you both!" she yelped between peals of laughter.

Manoj, meanwhile, stood at the edge of the room, chuckling like a man watching his own sitcom live. These moments — messy, loud, chaotic — were what he lived for.

His wife, Neelima, passed away 13 years ago. Anjali was just five years old then, too young to understand what loss meant, yet old enough to feel the hollow absence of a mother's embrace. Since then, Manoj had dedicated every waking moment to raising their three children with double the love. But Anjali... she was different. She needed softness, protection — and he, along with her brothers, made sure she never felt the absence of affection.

"PAAPA! Save me from these monsters! Aauch—"
Her scream dragged him from his thoughts.

"Who are you calling monsters, huh?" Rohan smirked, grabbing a pillow.
"Let me show you what monsters do!"

And just like that, a full-blown pillow war erupted.

Wool flew. Laughter rang. Cushions bounced off walls.

Finally, Manoj raised both hands like a referee in a boxing ring. "Enough, boys! Let my princess go now."

Once released, Anjali dove into her father's arms, her hair now resembling a bird's nest, her night suit wrinkled, and her emerald eyes sparkling with joy.

"Good morning, Papa," she said with a cheeky grin, snuggling into his embrace like a child.

"Morning? From which angle?" Rahul asked dryly. "It's lunch hour."

"Her morning starts at noon. If she's forced out of bed," Rohan added with a dramatic sigh. "Lazy pig."

Anjali narrowed her eyes and turned to Manoj, immediately switching to her signature pout and teary-eyed look. "Papa, look! They're bullying me again!"

And just like that, she had him wrapped around her little finger.

"Don't you dare mess with my princess," Manoj warned, mock glaring at his sons. "You know what happens when you provoke the lion."

Anjali, victorious, peeked at her brothers from behind her father's shoulder and stuck out her tongue.

The boys rolled their eyes.

Teasing her was their favorite pastime. No matter how old they got, Anjali would forever be their baby sister — their heart, their drama queen, and the one who could command their world with a single "Papa..." or "Bhai..."

"Alright, sweetheart. Go freshen up and come down for lunch," Manoj said, kissing her forehead.

"Okay, Papa! I'll be down soon!" she chirped and skipped off toward her walk-in closet.

Her room — the biggest in the mansion — was straight out of a fairy tale. Elegant ivory furnishings, plush rugs, a life-sized mirror, soft pink walls with golden accents — every inch reflected her personality. Luxurious, yes. But also filled with innocence, warmth, and a whole lot of Anjali.

To the outside world, she was a spoiled princess.
But to her family, she was everything.

After nearly an hour — with a royal-level grooming session and at least two wardrobe changes — Anjali finally made her grand descent down the marbled staircase, looking every bit like the princess her family claimed she was.

Clad in a soft pastel co-ord set with her emerald eyes lined in a subtle shimmer and hair styled to lazy perfection, she floated into the dining hall where her father and brothers were already waiting. The moment she entered, the staff sprang into action, placing fresh plates and pouring juice into her favorite crystal glass — the one with tiny cherry blossom engravings.

Lunch was a lavish spread, as always. Silver domes lifted to reveal handcrafted pastas, garlic breads, soups, and more — an Italian feast worthy of a five-star menu.

Anjali took one look at the table... and wrinkled her nose.

Everyone noticed the change in expression. But Rahul, as always, was the first to ask.

"Princess? What's wrong? You don't like the dishes?" he asked, lowering his fork and watching her intently.

"No Bhai..." she said, dragging out the syllables with a cute frown. "Why are there Italian dishes today?"

Rohan, ever ready with a snarky comeback, answered before Rahul could.

"Because you demanded them yesterday, Your Highness. Ring any bells?"

Anjali pursed her lips and crossed her arms with a thoughtful look that was way too dramatic for lunchtime.

"Hmm, that was yesterday. Today I want Japanese. I'm suddenly craving for... kimchi."

Rohan rolled his eyes so hard they nearly popped out. "I'm sure kimchi is Korean."

Anjali blinked, then shrugged. "Whatever. As long as it's fermented and spicy and makes me feel cultured."

Rahul chuckled softly, already turning to the butler. "Ask Chef Aman to prepare a fresh Japanese menu. Get the kimchi ready too, just in case."

The staff nodded and whisked themselves away like a well-trained army.

And just like that, the world realigned itself around her whims.

Because that's how things were when it came to Anjali.

There were no "nos" in her world. No explanations required. If she wanted something, it appeared. If she dreamed it, it was delivered — sometimes with a gift-wrapped bow. Her father and brothers never batted an eye. In fact, they competed to see who could fulfill her wishes fastest.

To outsiders, this life was a walking advertisement of a spoiled rich girl.
But very few ever looked past the surface.

Very few noticed the little girl who lost her mother too young.
Who still kept her favorite lullaby cassette in the drawer beside her bed.
Who hugged her father like a lifeline and melted into her brothers' teasing because it made her feel safe.

And no one — not even her family — knew that behind the laughter, drama, and sparkle was a girl who had given her heart away a long time ago.

To just one person.
Only one name had lived rent-free in her heart for the past eight years.
One man who saw her... but never really looked.

Arjun Singhania.

The name itself was enough to make her heart stutter and her thoughts scatter.

While others saw her as the glittering, spoiled princess of the Khanna family, only she knew how deeply and quietly she had loved — with the kind of devotion that expected nothing, yet gave everything.

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Translation:

Papa- father
Bhai- Brother