"What on earth did I do?" I scream into my pillow which happens to be a repetition of the last bazillion times through the whole night.

Through the curtains, the bright sunlight is bathing everything and blinding my sore, puffy eyes. For a fact, I know it's too late to be on bed and considering other normal days, my mother would have yanked me out already but since we all fought last night, they chose not to bother me this morning which is understandable. Sighing, I push the hairs off my face and throw the silk cushion on the floor, irritated.

"Why for heaven's sake did I spend a whopping seventy thousand from my bank account for a stupid flight which I am never going to board!" Pulling hair from roots, I sit up straight wanting to scream till my lungs give up.

"Miss, it's time to go downstairs." My personal staff, Spriha, knocked on the door and I groan because I have basically nothing else to do.

Telling her that I will be there in a minute, I jump before my laptop to find myself a number to call and quickly make that call to airlines, asking if there is any chance for getting a refund since the person travelling is under personal emergency. Much to the cliche and to my forever bad stars, they say no and I sigh disconnecting the call because I know it in my heart that the money spent on such a stupid whim is the money I wasted, because there is never a chance in both the worlds that I will be going to Paris. Oh, I mean it.

After a little, I make myself presentable enough to face my judgmental of a mother downstairs. My eyes spring up to the sky in a prayer when I find her at the breakfast table, sipping on her English Tea and father reading his economic newspaper like a true money-man at the head of the table. Glancing over, father nods my way and I pull a chair to make myself seated opposite mother. Thanking the staff as she serves me my breakfast, I nervously glance at my parents before dipping my spoon into the bowl of cereals and curd.

"It's time for filing the annual returns." Mother mentions to father ignoring my presence. "I have asked Mr.Kothari to come to the office this afternoon and we will sort Nandini and my accounts—"

Before she can finish, I oddly cough and quickly press the embroidered table napkin to my lips, not missing how mother gives me a sharp disapproval at my lack of manners. But, my worries are completely on another level. Being born to one of the finest families of this country, it is no doubt that I always do have a very handsome amount in my bank but unlike those spoiled brats, every time I swipe my card, everything gets through my mother's supervision. If the accounts get updated, she sure is going to find out what I did with the money last night and I cannot absolutely face her questions about Paris and my wretched guts. Who knows, she may perhaps lock me forever having found out that her obedient daughter dared enough to nurture a thought that daring.

Looking at father, she continues. "I don't know if you will be free this afternoon but whenever you are, ask your assistant to deal with it. We don't want to be penalised for late filing."

"All right." Father nods and turns a page of the newspaper. "But, be ready sharp at 7 for tonight."

Of course, tonight is one huge night for our family. Like past three years, my father is going to be awarded at the National Business Excellence Awards as the most important business mind of the country. He makes me feel so proud of him and I can't help but smile when he looks at me from the newspaper.

"Peanut, you are going with us, right?" He smiles.

"Papa, it's one of the most important nights of my life. When you go up the stage and people are applauding for all your hard work, that moment shines. You make me proud." I grin.

"You have been the force behind all my success, peanut." He grins wider.

"She has to go." Mother intervenes welcoming my attention. "Tonight is the night she formally meets Dhruv. And Nandini, you better not let us down."

The smile on my face falters and the beat of my heart drops at this shattering piece of information. Father suggestively blinks at her, gesturing not to spoil my mood which by the way is already more than ruined. It would be a lie if I say I am not scared to my core understanding the speed at which the marriage proposal is moving. If this keeps going, who knows I may have to get married the week after.

"Wha-meet him? Why?" I am petrified by the idea.

"What do you mean why? You meet him once, talk and see how things proceed. Oh, don't forget to congratulate him for his Young Achievers' Award tonight and please don't go on boring him with your cello talks. It's better not disclosing everything ridiculous." Mother informs and I can't help but form a deep frown.

"Then, what do I say if he asks me what I do for a living?" Putting down the spoon and giving my plate a little push, I dare to speak up.

"What's with your sudden attitude, I don't understand!" Mother huffs and father puts down the newspaper sensing the heat around the table rising. "If anyone asks anything, just say you play that stupid instrument out of hobby. Do I have to word out everything to you now?"

"Mamma!" I stand up and their eyes watch my lack of decorum. "Cello is my passion. It's more than a hobby to me and I don't think I want to meet this guy. And-and, if talking about my passion potentially bores the man who my parents chose as my life partner, then I don't think he is the right one for me." Every nerve of my body is throbbing at my display of a newfound courage.

As I wait for a reaction, I observe how my mother rolls her eyes, takes the last sip of her tea and walks around the table with elegance to reach my side. My nerves threaten to give up when laying her fingers, she pushes a strand of hair off my face and smiles. "I think you and I have done enough talking for a week by now. You will do as we say. When we come back home from work, I want to see you standing right here looking the best you can and please lose your sharp edges by then."

My lips quiver as I part them. "Mamma...please." Is all I can manage to say; eyes pleading her.

She pats my face with a decisive smile and speaks her next sentence as a judgment. "We are finished talking here. See you at 7."

Turning around, she grabs her handbag which the house staff held and pecking the cheek of my father as she is about to leave, I dare again to put my voice. "I am a very indecisive person, Mamma and maybe that's why I always rely on you. I try my best to never disappoint either of you by any of my actions but Mamma, please don't push me away so much because of something you want that later on, you and I find hard to reach one another."

She turns to me, eyes squinted. "It's not as if we are getting you married tonight itself. You just have to meet this amazing man. Why are you so hung up like a stubborn child? You are meeting Dhruv tonight, Nandini and I would appreciate you not making me repeat this again."

Water pooling in my eyes, I let out a soft sigh, quiet. "Bye Mamma."

She finds a little relief that I am no more pressed on the same thing and nods. Father scoots me in a light hug before he joins mother and they both leave whilst I stand waving at them with a heart that just got broken.

**

Yesterday I got to know that I am getting married. Tonight, I am supposed to be meeting that stranger. What has become of my life? Why do I feel trapped in my own palace of a house?

"You are not eating anything." The old lady staff shakes some more black pepper in my soup seeing me just swim the spoon, unmindfully.

"I don't feel hungry. I am full. Thank you, Ms. Gomez." She expresses her concern at my lack of appetite because she always has taught me since childhood that one should eat breakfast like a king, lunch like a normal man and dinner, like a beggar.

Excusing myself, I walk up the stairs to my room when suddenly the phone in my hand buzzes to life. Receiving the call, I discern that it is from the website I booked my tickets last night, asking my reasons. With worthless excuses, I try shaking it off and fall on my bed, with my whole weight sinking in the middle.

My mind knows it's time to take a call especially now that my mother called in her lunch hour informing me that my regular hair stylist and makeup artist will be arriving at 5 in the evening which leaves me basically two hours to think. All my reasonings are clouded at this moment and I believe making excuses of an ill-health is going to do me no good. Whatever plan I am hatching has the potential of getting caught by my mother who is hell of a smart woman. Her last words made it unambiguous that if she has to, she will get my corpse to meet the damn boy even.

This leaves me with basically zero chances of survival. Oh, except one thing. If I really really go to Paris or wherever, she won't be able to get me to meet Dhruv but the thought is too deadly to linger on, thus, I flip my mind but sooner or later, as my handful of options shrink in size, I start to incline more and more towards the destructive idea.

What if I run away? What then? How will I face them later? What are the chances of them disowning me?

What if I stay? What then? How will I face myself later? What are the chances of me being happily married to that Dhruv?

Shivers run down my spine and pacing across my room, I feel blood rush to my head. The corner of my perfect thumbnail gets cracked because I am thinking that hard; weighing and juxtaposing my limited options. Then it strikes me, if I stay, I am going to get married and there is no detouring this inevitable but if I run away, I may survive the inevitable and who knows, when I come back, things can actually fall into place?

The clock says it's four and it's damn time. This is the right thing. If I don't fight for myself, then who will? Nandini, those who don't take risks, they achieve nothing. Nothing. Make the damn choice. Hurry.

"I am going to Paris. Alone." My eyes are shining with determination and even though my hands are shaking, I pick my phone up and dial the number I know I should.

Walking to the mirror, I stand staring at my reflection as the line goes ringing. "Hello?"

**

It's five in the evening and my mother is absolutely unhappy when I tell her that I am going to do my own makeup and hair today, so I sent those guys back. Reluctantly, she agrees over phone and promises to be home by half past seven.

By now, my medium sized luggage is all stuffed with a decent number of clothes to wear for seven days, makeup, hair tools, few important medicines, credit and debit cards, important documents and a bunch of insecurities. Sweat beads cover my forehead and my whole body is releasing stress hormones because I am not Mukti Vardhan. Never was. I am Nandini Murthy and this is something I am not.

The flight is sharp at eight; the time, my parents are going to hunt for me in this house. Writing an apology letter addressing my parents, I paste it on the mirror in my room so it is easy to locate. I can't believe I am going to ruin such a special day for my father. Guilt and everything synonymous to it haunt me and I cannot shake this inner voice that is shouting and calling me a selfish.

The clock is about to strike quarter to six and I haul my luggage down the stairs until I stand facing Ms.Gomez.

"My stylist called and said he is unable to come. So, I am going to go to another one which one of my friends from Cello class recommended. I have to carry all the supplies - dresses, shoes, accessories, a couple of tools." I lie to her for the first time and I hate it immediately.

Having a perfect control over my breathing, I try my best not to give a contrary impression from my countenance. Her observant eyes try to uncover me but reckoning that in the past never did I cast an impression upon her to think of me otherwise, she nods with a smile. "You could have told me. I would have made a few calls and gotten you the best there is right at home. Where is this place by the way?"

Giving her a false address, I accept quietly when she says that I must take the car. If I call for a cab, that is bound to raise a hard suspicion and who wants that! With one last glance around this palatial place, I promise to return quickly and beg to be accepted then. My throat dries thinking of all the unknown and scary things that might happen to me in the process but my foot is already out now.

Sliding into the backseat, I bite the inner walls of my cheeks hard to not show any emotional weakness as I am waving to Ms.Gomez. These people trust me for God's sake!

The car carries me away; away from what I never wanted to leave behind but I'm forced to. Heartbeat is racing like a mad horse and honestly, nothing makes sense anymore. I refuse to look behind because I know it will tie me down.

Telling the chauffeur to drop me off outside a certain beauty salon, I hand him some money to get me something from the mall because I need the car gone so I can book a cab. God, who am I? Why do I suddenly feel like a cold blooded criminal who knows what exactly to be done.

Wasting no time, I call for a cab and after a few minutes' wait, here it is. Oddly, the only focus of my life right now is catching that flight which I never wanted to. My eyes frequently travel to the route map and the time estimation.

"National or international, madam?" The driver asks and I wonder if he too can read the unshakeable nervousness written on my face in bold.

"International." I murmur forcing my eyes to look at the busy streets I am leaving behind, thinking it will help to some degree to calm down.

As the cab halts, I step out and pull my luggage out and gape at the Airport. The same gate I passed through a hundred times in my life with my parents on our luxurious family vacations. I am sorry, Papa. I am sorry, Mamma.

Since I have my sunglasses on to avoid being recognised by anyone, it ends up bringing me all the more attention because people now feel that I am some kind of a celebrity. Weighing my luggage, I feel a little relief that I don't have to now throw away my precious little things. Exchanging a handsome amount of money, I proceed for collecting my boarding pass. The immigration check is over in the next fifteen minutes and now, I am past the duty free area and finally in the first class lounge.

Finding myself an empty space, I finally get a moment to breathe and look around. Everything happened too fast that I almost did not notice how beautifully the airport is decorated with lights, bow ribbons and a giant Christmas tree.

Shit. I hope I don't regret this.

I may look like I am this poised, cool girl travelling solo but inside, I have had fifteen mental breakdowns by now. Every second, breath is hitched in the middle of my throat and I look around to make sure no one was hunting me.

Good afternoon passengers. This is the pre-boarding announcement for flight 89B to Paris. We are now inviting First class passengers, those passengers with small children, and any passengers requiring special assistance, to begin boarding at this time. Please have your boarding pass and identification ready. Business class and regular boarding will begin in approximately ten minutes time. Thank you.

Thank the heavens that I am a first class passenger. Getting my boarding pass and passport checked again, I set my foot in, dying a million deaths inside. I am shown my private space which feels like a billionaire's private jet. Inside of me lies a rollercoaster of emotions as the flight takes off and just like that I know, I am no longer within their reach. This can mean a lot of things. From here on whatever happens to me, solely is my responsibility and no one is coming after to save their little lamb.

Resting my forehead against the cold glass, I watch the city lights fade and the clouds fog everything between. There has been a terrible headache for sometime now and no matter how many over-the-counter pills I swallow, it just won't go. Thus, drowning my worries with two pegs of Grey Goose with pineapple juice, I decide to give my head a little rest and not think of what disaster must be happening back at my mansion; the faces of my parents. Oh Lord!

As my eyes felt heavy and the inside walls started disappearing, I wanted to give it in the hands of my much needed sleep in order to stop this affliction, even for few hours.

Fresh rays of sunlight seep into my blinds forcing me to turn my head on the bed. As the thoughts of the inevitable follow quickly, I decide to get up but soon I gasp at what beauty lays before my eyes. My dreams dwell not upon this earthy plain, but soar to the clouds and are reborn in the blue below. The beauty, an ever changing canvas of silvery swirls, as soft as the finest of cloth - the clouds are simply a thing to fly through as I become heaven-bound. Like white ribbons upon the velvet sky, making a half-spiral as if fluttering in lofty breezes, the clouds blow my mind. From below they decorate the sky, from above they decorate the earth, a gift of beauty to surpass any silken or woven cloth.

When breakfast is proposed, I refuse politely, because I don't want to take rounds of the washroom on this plane after eating something I'm not habituated to. I keep munching on few stuffs I bought from the duty free and the rest of my flight survives on such snacks. Thoughts about calories can wait.

It is around five in the evening when landing announcement is made but honestly, I feel lazy to move. Maybe, I am too comfortable within the walls of the cell which no longer will be mine the moment we touch the ground. Fear immediately engulfs me of what to come the moment I land and every panic pays a visit again.

✿

I may describe the Charles de Gaulle Airport as like a sea of faces moving in an unseen current, flowing like water to their destinations like a wide river down the aisles. Small groups sometimes stop and cause a small eddy, but the others just flow around and continue on their way. There are plasma screens of arrival and departure. People are lined up at the check in desk with suitcases and baggage. Who knew my journey will begin so soon?

With a steaming cup of vanilla latte in hand, oversized sunglasses covering my identity, I am busy propelling the trolley together while managing to sip on my drink as the hunger is killing me already. I feel the warmth run down my oesophagus and my head make an involuntary shake at the comfort.

Heartbreakingly, my feat of luxury is extremely short lived as soon I realise I have collided with a hard something and the hot coffee is currently flying high in the sky and now, on most of my face. Talk about misfortunes.

"Ouch, it's hot!" I cuss rubbing my face all over not caring if I look like a psycho straight out of a sixties movie.

"What the actual hell?" I stop wiping my face and open my eyes only to find another guy stretching his arms, studying the coffee splashes all over his white t-shirt.

Wiping my eyes clean and feeling the burn cool down, now that I see him clearly, he is one disgustingly tall individual with thick, lustrous hair, titan shoulders and unarguably the most hazel eyes I have seen in my entire limited life. In the middle of all this mess, one thing I must admit which is, this guy can potentially stop any girl and guy stop in their tracks and just stare at his deep, deep eyes.

Snapping fingers right before my eyes, he decides to pull me out of my thoughts and I'm immediately mortified. Who does he think he is snapping his fingers before a girl like that?

"What?" I stare, sharply.

"What?" He shrugs as if I'm some stupid for not pointing my finger at the obvious. "What do you think you have done? Created an art?"

Running my eyes over his flexed muscles under the tight t-shirt, I notice the spots my beverage has left on his white outfit. Ordinarily, I may have apologised a hundred times by now but since he snapped his fingers, he should be the last one to expect an apology.

"Just wash it off, all right?" I snap at him and this is not the Nandini I am. Wow. "The washroom's that way." I point.

"Yeah, thanks." He says with a ridicule and murmurs something like this under his breath. "Unlucky thing."

"Excuse me, what did you just call me right now?" I am not trying to pick a fight, I promise but he just called me an unlucky thing and I am done being called names all my life. Plus, I am the one burning because of the hot coffee and he doesn't get to complain for a few droplets.

"Just what you heard. I mean, who on earth do you think you are walking in an airport with such big sunglasses on, Kylie Jenner? Stop acting like a diva if only you are gonna cause people trouble because you clearly can't pass as one." My mouth falls open at his rudeness.

"And, you should stop acting like you own the place, all right?" I glare looking awful with all the shake sticking to my face. "It's just a few droplets and don't be such a girl whining about it."

"You should go wash your face first because you look disgusting to me right now." He says only and only to infuriate me all the more.

"And, you should go buy yourself some manners. Might come useful at times like this. Idiot! Now, move!" Purposely, shoving with my trolley, I cause his luggage to drop.

Shooting me an irritated look, he kneels down to pick up his duffel bag and loosely throw it over his shoulder and murmur. "Unlucky thing."

Before I can protest once more, he is lost in the crowd for good and I hope and pray never ever to even find an ill-mannered creature like him.

Cleaning myself up, I find myself joining in the struggle for finding a cab. It reads like there has been some transport strike and only a couple or two cabs pass by once every fifteen minutes and those even are chased by hundreds of people. God, I knew Paris would be a terrible idea and here I am regretting this in the first freaking minute.

After what feels like a century, I finally manage to get hold of a cab who demands not only an exorbitant fare but also offers to drop me ten minutes away from my destination. Happily agreeing to even that, I throw my stuffs in the trunk and pull the door open to make my way in the cozy. Another thing about Paris for which I feel sorry to myself is this murderous cold, oh God! I am shivering to my cores and the warmth inside this vehicle feels like heaven to me.

As I settle in and make myself comfortable, now comes another nightmare peeping in the shape of a human when another passenger dropped inside.

"Rue des Rosiers, S'il vous plaît." His French is sharp when he mutters it to the cabby, staying engrossed in closing the door on his side but something about the voice strikes me.

"No no no no no. In case you haven't noticed, this ride is taken." I say nervously but as he turns around, I want to run away immediately.

"Could be but this is now mine." It is the same imbecile who fought with me over a coffee splash and called me an unlucky thing, that retard. He puts up a look on his face as if my face doesn't remind me of anything and even it does, it's not a big deal.

"I had it first. It's mine." I argue like a child while he unwraps the thick scarf around his neck which I earlier didn't notice.

"Miss, it is mine." The driver announced with his broken english. "And, if the two of you..uh want the ride then share else I drop two of you here. Bon Dieu!"

The egoistic guy looks outside the window and shakes his head at me. "It's thirty five degrees outside." And, I mentally translated that would be 2 degrees in celsius.

Sighing at my helplessness, the expression on my face turns bitter as I look the other way and the driver takes it as an indication to rev the engine. So much has my ticket to freedom brought me already.

Je vous remercie, Paris.