It was a bright morning, and the small village of Pipliya was already buzzing with life. The sun cast a golden glow over the dusty roads, and the air carried the scent of marigolds and fresh cow dung—a smell that Sitara had known her entire life.

At the village bus stand, a rickety old bus stood with its engine rumbling impatiently. Sitara stood beside it, clutching her small suitcase, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. In front of her stood her grandmother—Dadi—a strong woman with silver-streaked hair pulled back into a tight bun, her wrinkled face etched with years of hard work and love.

"Dadi, please don't cry," Sitara said, her own voice trembling despite her words. "You'll make me cry too, and then my kohl will smudge, and I'll look terrible when I reach Mumbai."

Dadi chuckled softly, wiping her eyes with the edge of her cotton saree. "Look at you, worried about your kohl when your old Dadi is standing here with a broken heart."

Sitara dropped her suitcase and threw her arms around her grandmother, hugging her tightly. "I'll call you every day, I promise. Every single day. Even if Papa says I'm wasting money on phone calls, I'll still call you. And I'll send you photos of Mumbai—of the tall buildings and the shiny cars. And when I come back for holidays, I'll bring you so many sweets that your teeth will hurt."

Dadi laughed, patting her granddaughter's back. "Arre, meri bacchi, you'll bankrupt yourself buying sweets for me. Just focus on your studies. That scholarship is a big thing—don't waste it."

Sitara pulled back, her eyes shining with determination. "I won't waste it, Dadi. I'll study so hard that one day I'll become a big businesswoman, and then I'll take you to live in a huge house in Mumbai. With a garden. And a swing. You always wanted a swing, na?"

Dadi smiled, cupping Sitara's face in her weathered hands. "My only wish is to see you happy, baccha. The swing can wait."

The bus honked loudly, and the conductor shouted, "Chalo, chalo! Last call for Mumbai!"

Sitara's eyes filled with panic. "Dadi, I forgot to tell you—I packed your pickles in my bag, but I also packed some ladoos. The yellow ones, your special ones. But don't eat too many, okay? Your sugar—"

"Arre, enough, enough!" Dadi interrupted, laughing through her tears. "You'll miss your bus giving me instructions. Go now, beta. And remember—keep your kohl applied properly, it protects from evil eye. And don't talk to strangers. And eat properly, don't skip meals like you used to when studying—"

"Dadi, now you're the one giving instructions!" Sitara giggled, picking up her suitcase. "I love you, Dadi. I'll miss you so much."

"I love you too, meri jaan. Now go, before I start crying like a baby."

Sitara climbed onto the bus and found a window seat. As the bus began to move, she leaned out, waving frantically. "Dadi! I'll send you a saree from Mumbai! A really pretty one!"

Dadi waved back, her voice carried away by the wind. "Just come back safely, that's all I want!"

Sitara kept waving until her grandmother's figure became a tiny speck in the distance, then disappeared altogether. She sat back in her seat, wiping her tears with the back of her hand, and whispered to herself, "Okay, Mumbai. Here I come."

---

Her heart was filled with excitement and nervousness as she thought about the new life waiting for her there. She was going to reunite with her father, who had been working in Mumbai for years, and start her journey at the prestigious University of Elites.

The scenery outside the window blurred as her thoughts raced, but the warmth of the sun on her face reassured her that this was the beginning of something special.

Her father, Ramesh, had been working for the Raizada family, a multibillionaire family, for the past five years. Ramesh was an honest man who lived in the servant quarters of the Raizada estate. His wife had passed away from cancer when Sitara was only 13 years old.

Since then, Sitara had been living with her grandmother in their village, where she completed high school with excellent marks. She had secured a scholarship to the prestigious University of Elites after a lot of hard work.

Ramesh was extremely proud of his daughter. He had been sending money regularly for her education and other expenses, making sure she had everything she needed while she stayed in the village.

Ramesh had taken a half-day off from work to pick her up from the bus station when she arrived in Mumbai. He eagerly waited for his precious daughter, whom he hadn't seen in so long.

Sitara was an innocent, bright child, and her simplicity shone through her eyes. She had long, dark brown hair, fair skin, and a slim figure. In the village, she always wore traditional clothes, which made her feel comfortable.

Ramesh spotted the bus she was traveling on as it pulled into the station. As soon as Sitara stepped off the bus with her luggage, her beautiful, kohl-lined eyes filled with tears when she saw her father.

She ran towards him and hugged him tightly. "I missed you, Papa," she said, her voice choked with emotion.

She couldn't hold back her tears.

Seeing his daughter after so long, Ramesh's eyes filled with tears too. "I missed you too, my baccha," he replied, holding her close. Sitara was the spitting image of his late wife, and he loved her more than anything.

Gently caressing her head, he broke the hug and said, "Why are you crying now? You'll be living with me from now on. We'll talk so much, so there's no need to cry anymore." Sitara nodded in response, wiping her tears.

"Papa, did you get my message? I wrote you one last week. I told you about Dadi's goat having babies—three of them, Papa! Two white and one brown. And I named the brown one Champa because she's so sweet. And Dadi made her special ladoos for my journey, but I told her not to eat too many because of her sugar, but you know Dadi, she never listens—"

Ramesh laughed, his heart swelling with joy at his daughter's chatter. "Slow down, slow down, Sitara! One thing at a time. Yes, I got your message. And I'm sure Champa is a lovely goat."

Sitara beamed. "She is! And Papa, I also brought Dadi's pickle for you. The mango one, your favorite. She sent so much love for you. She said to tell you to eat properly and not work too hard."

Ramesh smiled softly, picking up her luggage. "Dadi is always thinking of us, isn't she? Come, let's go home. We'll talk more on the way."

He put her luggage in the car he had borrowed from the Singh Raizada family. During the ride, Sitara excitedly talked about her grandmother and everything she did back in the village. "Papa, you won't believe it—I topped my class in the final exams! Dadi was so proud, she told everyone in the village. Even the shopkeeper gave me free sweets! And remember our old mango tree? It gave so many mangoes this year, Dadi made at least twenty jars of pickle. I wanted to bring all of them, but Dadi said no, you'll come home for holidays and take more then."

Her father listened to her with a full heart, nodding and smiling at every word. It had been so long since he'd heard her voice filling his ears like this.

Soon, they arrived at the Raizada mansion. Sitara stepped out of the car and was amazed by the grand, lavish mansion in front of her eyes. "Papa, you work here?" she asked curiously, her mouth hanging open slightly.

"Yes, my baccha, I work here. Now let's go to our quarters," her father replied with a gentle smile.

"Papa, it's so big! Bigger than the entire village temple! Do they really live here? All by themselves? How many rooms are there? Do they get lost inside?" Sitara's questions tumbled out one after another.

Ramesh chuckled. "You'll see for yourself soon enough. Now come."

Sitara nodded, took her luggage, and followed him toward their home, still craning her neck to look at the mansion.

As they entered the quarters, Sitara saw a clean, modest 1-bedroom house. It was simple but well-maintained, with everything neatly in place. "Is this our house, Papa?" she asked, looking around.

"Yes, this is ours," her father answered warmly. Sitara placed her luggage down and began exploring, inspecting every corner of the small yet cozy house.

"Papa, the kitchen is so clean! Did you clean it yourself?d look, you have a little plant on the windowsill! Is it a tulsi plant? Dadi has one too. She talks to it every morning. Do you talk to yours?" Sitara pranced around, her anklets creating a soft melody with every step.

Ramesh laughed. "No, baccha, I don't talk to it. But maybe now that you're here, you can."

Sitara grinned. "I will! And Papa, where should I put my clothes? Do you have an extra cupboard? I brought so many kurtis—Dadi got three new ones stitched for me. And I brought my books, lots of them. Dadi said I should read every day, even in Mumbai."

"Baccha, now get freshened up and take some rest. You must be tired after the long journey," her father suggested.

"Yes, Papa, but I'm hungry now," Sitara replied with a shy smile.

"I'll make lunch for both of us," her father said, smiling back. "You go get ready."

Sitara nodded and headed to get fresh, feeling content to finally be with her father in their new home. She hummed a tune from a village folk song as she unpacked her things, occasionally calling out to her father from the other room.

"Papa, do you have a mirror here? Dadi packed one but I think I forgot it—oh wait, I found it! And Papa, Dadi sent some homemade oil for your hair. She said your hair is getting thin, you need to take care of it."

Ramesh smiled to himself, stirring the vegetables on the stove. "Tell Dadi thank you for me."

After lunch, Sitara began unpacking her luggage properly. She had brought some homemade ladoos and achar made by her grandmother, which she placed in the kitchen, arranging them just so.

Her father had gone out for some work, but before leaving, he reminded her not to step out of the quarters until he returned.

Sitara finished putting away her things and, feeling tired from the long journey, decided to rest. She lay down on the bed, wrapped herself in a blanket, and soon drifted off to sleep, dreaming of her Dadi and the little goat Champa.

---

Meanwhile, Ramesh was with Ashish Singh Raizada, the head of the Raizada family. Mr. Raizada, a tall, authoritative figure with a calm demeanor, casually asked, "Your daughter arrived today, right, Ramesh?"

Ramesh smiled warmly and replied, "Yes, sir. She's at the quarters now. She hasn't stopped talking since she got here—she gets that from her mother's side, I think."

Mr. Raizada chuckled. "She must be a lovely girl. Why has she come to Mumbai?"

"She completed her high school with excellent marks and earned a scholarship at the University of Elites. She's here to pursue her studies," Ramesh responded with pride.

Mr. Raizada nodded, impressed. "A bright student, I see. Bring her to dinner tonight at the mansion. I'd like her to meet Shalini, Riya, Anshita, and Kabir."

Hearing the compliments for his daughter, Ramesh smiled modestly and replied, "There's no need for a formal dinner, sir. She's just a simple village girl—"

"Nonsense," Mr. Raizada interrupted firmly but kindly. "She's worked hard for her education, and the least we can do is celebrate her success with a nice dinner at my home. You can't refuse me—it's an order."

Ramesh, knowing Mr. Raizada's generous but authoritative nature, nodded respectfully and said, "Sure, sir. If you insist."

---

At Night

Sitara was ready for the evening, wearing a pink chikankari kurti paired with white palazzo pants. As usual, she applied kohl to her eyes, wore her long hair in a loose braid, and added a light touch of lipstick. She was excited but a little nervous about meeting the Raizada family.

"Papa, does this kurti look okay? Dadi stitched it especially for occasions. She said pink brings out my complexion. Do you think I look too village-ish? The Raizada family probably wears very fancy clothes. Should I change into something else? But this is my only fancy kurti—"

Ramesh placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You look beautiful, Sitara. Just as you are. Now come, don't be nervous."

When she and her father arrived at the Raizada mansion, Sitara was awestruck by the grandeur of the place. The hall was spacious, with plush sofas, elegant furnishings, and walls lined with glass. She whispered to herself, "Wow, this is so beautiful."

Suddenly, she heard someone clear their throat. Turning around, she saw a man in a peach T-shirt and black pants, alongside a woman dressed in a simple yet elegant pink saree. The man greeted her warmly, "Welcome, bacche."

Feeling a bit awkward in the unfamiliar setting, Sitara glanced at her father for reassurance. He smiled and said, "This is Ashish Singh Raizada, the man I work for." Sitara nodded and approached the couple, touching their feet as a sign of respect.

"Oh, there's no need for that, beta," Ashish said with a gentle laugh. Sitara smiled shyly and then touched the feet of the woman, who smiled warmly and said, "Such a well-mannered girl. Stay blessed, baccha. Come, sit with us."

They all took their seats—Ashish and his wife, Shalini, on the large sofa, while Sitara and her father sat on single chairs sofa opposite them. "What's your name, baccha?" Shalini asked kindly. "I'm Sitara Sharma," she answered softly.

"And what did you study in school, Sitara?" Shalini continued.

"Everything, ma'am. But I like science the most. I want to become an officer one day. A big one, like a collector or something. Dadi—my grandmother—she always says I have the brain for it. She's the one who taught me to read and write, you know? Before I even went to school." Sitara's nervousness began to fade as she spoke about her grandmother.

"That's wonderful," Shalini said genuinely. "Your grandmother must be very proud."

"She is, ma'am. She cried a lot when I left today. But I told her I'll call her every day. And send her photos. And bring her a saree from Mumbai. Do you know where I can buy a good saree, ma'am? Not too expensive, but pretty. Dadi likes green colors."

Shalini's heart melted at the girl's innocence. "I'll take you myself someday, beta."

They talked for a while about Sitara's studies and life in the village. Sitara shared stories of her upbringing, and the Raizadas listened with genuine interest. After some time, Shalini said, "It's time for dinner. Let's go to the dining table."

Shalini called for the maid, "Rama, call Riya and Anshita for dinner. And ask Kabir when he'll be home." Rama nodded and left to summon the family members, leaving Sitara feeling both excited and nervous about meeting the rest of the Raizada family.

They settled at the dining table when Riya entered and noticed Sitara seated there. With curiosity, she asked, "Is she Ramesh uncle's daughter?" Her mother, Shalini, smiled and replied, "Yes, Riya, meet Sitara."

Shalini turned to Sitara, who was looking at Riya. "Sitara, this is my daughter Riya. She's still in high school."

"Oh, nice to meet you, Riya," Sitara said politely.

Riya's face lit up with a wide smile. "Nice to meet you too, Sitara. I love your kurti! The embroidery is so pretty."

Sitara beamed. "Thank you! My Dadi stitched it for me. She's very good with a needle. She makes all my clothes."

Just then, Anshita entered the dining room, her eyes scanning the table before landing on Sitara. She raised an eyebrow.

“Meet Sitara, she worked hard and earn scholarship in your college,” Shalini said looking towards Anshita.

"So, this is the girl who got a scholarship in our college?" she said, her tone sharp.

Everyone turned to look at her. Shalini answered, "Yes, Anshita. She worked hard and earned it. You should learn from her."

Sitara looked at Anshita, sensing a bit of rudeness in her voice. Shalini added, "Sitara, this is Anshita, my sister's daughter. She's in your college."

Anshita scoffed, "Now the college is accepting low-class people like this?"

Sitara's smile faltered. Her eyes widened, and she felt a lump forming in her throat.

Shalini immediately scolded her, "Anshita, that's no way to talk."

Anshita rolled her eyes and ignored the reprimand, turning to one of the maids. "Bring my dinner to my room," she said before walking away.

Shalini noticed tears welling up in Sitara's eyes and quickly reassured her, "Ignore her, Sitara. She's just immature."

Riya chimed in, trying to lighten the mood. "Yes, Sitara, she's always got an attitude. You know, she's chasing after Bhai, but he ignores her." Riya whispered the last part and giggled, making Sitara smile a little, though her heart still hurt

Salini then asked the maid, "Rama, did you call Kabir?" Rama replied, "Yes, madam. He said he'll be late."

After dinner, Sitara and Ramesh thanked the Singh Raizada family and took their leave. As they walked back to their quarters, Ramesh sensed something was bothering his daughter. He gently asked, "What's wrong, Sitara?"

Hesitantly, she replied, "Nothing, Papa. I'm just a little nervous about starting college." She lied, unable to stop thinking about how Anshita had spoken to her earlier. Low-class. She called me low-class. The words echoed in her mind.

Ramesh, though aware his daughter wasn't being completely honest, chose not to press the issue. Instead, he smiled and said, "Don't worry. You'll do great." He didn't want to make her more uncomfortable.

When they reached their quarters, Sitara went to her room but paused at the door. "Papa? Do you think I'm... low-class?"

Ramesh's expression softened with pain. He walked to her and cupped her face gently, just as Dadi had done that morning. "Listen to me, Sitara. You are my daughter, and there is nothing low-class about you. You are intelligent, hardworking, and kind. That girl—she doesn't know you. Don't let her words define who you are."

Sitara nodded slowly, tears spilling over. "I miss Dadi," she whispered.

"I know, baccha. I know. Call her tomorrow, okay? Now get some rest."

Sitara nodded and went to her room, lying in bed as her mind replayed the evening. But slowly, she reminded herself to focus on the exciting new chapter ahead. Papa is right. I worked hard for this. I won't let anyone make me feel small.

And with that thought, she closed her eyes, the sound of her grandmother's voice echoing in her heart. Keep your kohl applied properly, it protects from evil eye. She smiled in the darkness and finally drifted off to sleep.