Arohi startled awake to the low rumble of thunder outside. Rain tapped on frosted glass, and a faint scent of wet earth mingled with polished wood and jasmine agarbattis. She blinked slowly, her mind foggy with a sense of unfamiliarity, and sat up—blankets tangled at her waist.
The room was palatial, practically dripping in gilt. Ornate posters framed her heavy bed; brocade curtains blocked out the minimal morning light; against one wall, a sepia photograph glowered—her "new" saas, she guessed—from beneath a lacquered bun.
She swung her legs to the floor, her feet brushing a soft hand-knotted rug, and stretched, muscles surprisingly lean and flexible under borrowed polyester pajamas.
This isn't my rented flat, she thought, her lips twitching. Where's my peeling ceiling, my noisy ceiling fan?
The answer arrived in dramatic, gold-bangled form. The heavy double doors banged open, and three women swept in—each wielding a different level of disapproval.
Savita Chachi (clucks): "It's half past seven! The roka is today, Arohi. And you're still in bed, na? Have you no shame?"
Pushpa Mami (soft-voiced, sharp gaze): "If only you listened to elders, beta. You'd be married and settled by now, like your cousins."
Kavita Bua (mutters): "God alone knows what will become of this girl. Always drama with her."
Arohi gazed at them, amused, a ripple of sarcasm threatening to spill.
Arohi: "Good morning, ladies. Did you know frowning deepens forehead lines? Just a friendly PSA."
Kavita Bua gripped the edge of a dresser, scandalized. But before they could reply, Arohi's fingers brushed her temple—a digital chime echoed in her head, clear as a bell.
[Daily Sign-In: Welcome! You have received ₹200,000. Stored in System Wallet. Inventory unlocked.]
She glanced over the aunties' shoulders into the hallway, mind swirling. Right. Transmigrated. Soap opera family. System — like in those wild webnovels?
She could almost giggle, except the air was too tense, too humid.
Savita Chachi: "At least comb your hair! Malhotra girls are not… hippies."
Arohi grinned, examining her reflection in a nearby gold-edged mirror—layered black hair, caramel undertones, sleep-creased but proud. Her almond eyes seemed brighter, almost mischievous.
She stood, shaking out her hair and stretching. The women forcibly turned away as her borrowed pajama tee showed a hint of toned stomach.
Pushpa Mami: "At least wear something decent. The groom's side is coming—"
Arohi (archly): "Should I roll out a red carpet too?"
The younger cousin stepped in timidly, holding a starched cotton kurta.
Cousin: "Uh, Arohi di… breakfast? Puri bhaji. I can bring it here?"
Arohi (smiling with relief): "That's the best thing I've heard today, thanks, Mini."
As the aunties marched out in indignation, she mouthed a silent 'thanks' to Mini, then closed the door. Alone, she allowed herself to collapse against the cool wooden panel. Her head buzzed with nervous possibility.
She paced the room, quietly testing the air—no cameras, but so much tension. Quickly, she fiddled with her "system" interface. The balance shimmered: ₹200,000. And under "inventory," a single new entry: a Coffee Capsule Machine, with ten Italian pods.
What even is this luck? she thought, setting up the shiny contraption near the window. The whirr of brewing coffee grounded her. Thunder rolled again, and for a fleeting moment, she felt genuinely alive—a queen in her gilded cage, now holding the keys.
The clock chimed eight. Her phone (polished old Nokia) vibrated—a family group chat, a dozen unread messages. Cousins, aunts, orders for the caterer, cryptic warnings about "bad omens," and a meme from someone who obviously didn't know how to crop screenshots.
Arohi sipped her coffee, leaning against the window, surveying the city that sprawled below. She could see the garden, decked in marigolds, a white-and-pink canopy being erected for her "roka." She laughed under her breath.
What's a queen to do with a room full of fools?
A knock—a little more polite—interrupted her thoughts. This time, her mother entered, silk sari pristine, face lined with concern and something else—fear, or embarrassment, or both.
Mom (softly): "Come quickly, the priest is already here. Bhushan-ji's mother is… difficult. I can't handle this alone."
Arohi hesitated, recognizing for the first time in this new life the flicker of actual worry behind all the melodrama. But it was her life now—her terms.
Arohi (gently): "I'll be ready soon, Ma. Tell them not to wait. Have you eaten yet?"
Her mother seemed thrown, blinking rapidly.
Mom: "Eat after roka. That's tradition."
Arohi watched her go, suddenly worried for the older woman—caught between traditions and her daughter's rebellion. She set her coffee down and turned to the mirror once more.
Arohi (to herself, quietly): "Time to see if these abs are just for show."
Downstairs, the drama was already building…Savita Chachi (to crowd): "She needs a good match. Otherwise, what future is there for a girl?"
Mini (whispering to her brother): "I think Arohi di is cool. Wish I could skip pooja and do what I like."
Auntie 2: "She'll come down eventually. Just you see. They always do."
But Arohi had spotted a new button on her system screen: Set Destiny — Activate Reward Journey?
She pressed it, smiling with anticipation.
Let the games begin.