Rain fell in delicate whispers over Kolkata, turning the city into a poem no one had finished writing.
Rickshaws glided like ghosts through the puddled streets. Fairy lights flickered outside cafés where half-drunk cups of cha cooled slowly on chipp...
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Hey you. Yeah, you. Welcome to my very twisted, tangled, textbook-meets-diary kind of life.
I’m Ishita Roy—part-time nerd, full-time overachiever, accidental popular girl in a school that still doesn’t know what hit it.
Born in Kolkata, bred in Mumbai, and emotionally scattered somewhere between my textbooks and the boys I pretend to hate.
We moved to Mumbai when I was three. Dad had this grand business plan, and my grandparents’ hugs were part of the bonus package. But even after the zip codes changed, one thing never did: Aryan Singha. That tall, broody, walking ego followed me like a glitch in my Matrix. But to be fair, he followed her. My sister. You know, the golden girl. The one with the glow-in-the-dark trophies and glittery confidence.
You’ve probably read about her in the character files. (If not, spoiler alert: she’s gorgeous, graceful, and painfully lovable.) Me? I was the sidekick. The shadow. The background score to her grand spotlight. And that’s okay… until it’s not.
Because here's the twist: even when I was invisible, I had a crush. A big, fat, forbidden crush. On Aryan. Yep—Mr. Brainfreeze himself. Oh, and his brother too. Don’t judge. That boy was the first friend I had in Mumbai. The other one? He was my enemy… but only when we weren’t flirting through insults.
And the story? This story’s about how I finally stopped being the side character in someone else’s life. It’s about heartbreaks, highlighters, and hormones. About family, flaws, and falling in love with the wrong people at the right time.
I’m Ishita Roy. And this? This is where I stop being just another pretty face in a crowd—and start becoming the storm I was always meant to be.
So you’re probably thinking, “Wait—if Miss Mumbai made it into Mumbai and was living there, why’s she back in Kolkata?” Simple answer? Because Kolkata never stopped feeling like home.
And “surprisingly” my parents, thought that they had stood on their legs, so hence they also came to Kolkata with Ishani.
But the real reason was Aryan's family had moved back here, and their firm would not be so successful without the Singha family, so they were following the Singha family like leeches. And I was their perfect excuse.
Even when we were in the city of dreams, my dreams stayed behind—laughing on the tramlines, echoing down the Howrah Bridge, tangled in the roots of old banyan trees where my childhood lived. I missed my real friends. And no, before you ask—those weren’t friends in Mumbai. They were fillers. Replacements. For her.
But that's also true that now I am in London, due to my scholarship. Which I am proud of.
But yet my parents never really cared. Ishani was really the only thing they saw. I was nothing but a mistake to them.
