Every girl's story begins differently, yet somehow feels the same.
Sneha was born in a small village— a place where traditions spoke louder than dreams, and education was still a privilege, not a priority. It was not a place meant for questions, especially not from a girl. Yet Sneha was different. She was an extroverted child—always smiling, always laughing, fearless in her own innocent way. She enjoyed life fully, living each moment with bravery only childhood could afford.
When Sneha was barely three or four years old, her parents left the village and moved to the city. Cities were said to be different—better people, better education, better lives. At least, that's what everyone believed.
Her father travelled frequently for work, and sometimes Sneha went with him. Those journeys were her happiest moments. She loved travelling, the moving roads, the changing views. In those moments, she felt free. Childhood has a magic of its own—children live without fear, without stress, simply enjoying life as it comes.
But by the time Sneha turned five, she began to notice something strange about her world.
Her father treated her like a son.
He believed girls should be simple—no makeup, no extra attention, no unnecessary softness. Childhood, he thought, was the age when a child's shape and character were formed. Somewhere, maybe, he believed he was doing the right thing.
Her hair was always trimmed short. Dresses were replaced by boys' clothes. Simplicity, according to him, meant stripping her of everything that made her feel like a girl.
Sneha didn't like it.
She wanted to grow her hair. She wanted to feel pretty. Once, she secretly applied nail polish—just a little color on her tiny nails. But the moment her father noticed, he wiped it off harshly.
Every single time.
After a while, Sneha stopped trying.
I will never apply nail polish again, she promised herself.
Another time, she wore a pretty dress she liked. She felt happy—until her father saw her.
The slap came faster than her tears.
That day, something inside her quietly broke.
She folded her desires deep inside her heart and decided she would never wear such clothes again.
Time passed.
Slowly, Sneha changed. The extroverted, fearless child turned into a quiet, introverted girl. She became shy, simple—no makeup, no travelling, no unnecessary words. Yet, she remained kind and sweet at heart.
Her softness turned into silence. Her femininity hid behind a mask of toughness. Unknowingly, she adapted a boyish personality—because survival demanded it.
With time, even her father changed. He adapted to the environment, became gentler, sweeter. But the damage had already been done.
By the time Sneha reached fifth standard, she changed schools.
Everything felt different.
The students were different.The atmosphere was unfamiliar.
Now, some things changed. Sneha started wearing skirts and girls' uniforms. She was finally allowed to dress like a girl—but makeup was still forbidden.
A new chapter of her life began.
And then—there was him.
Aman.
Handsome. Smart. Effortlessly elegant.
He wasn't just a favorite among students—teachers adored him too. There was something about his personality that attracted everyone without effort. Though he came from a village background, his charm made that irrelevant.
In the beginning, Sneha felt a strange pull toward him.
Maybe it was age.Maybe it was innocence.Maybe it was the first flutter of something unnamed.
It was her first time experiencing such feelings.
She wanted to look beautiful, but she had no knowledge of makeup, no guidance, no confidence. She couldn't speak loudly—she was shy now. Aman, on the other hand, was extroverted, confident, alive.
When Aman wore half-sleeve shirts, the veins on his arms showed naturally, even though he never went to the gym. He carried himself with quiet confidence—a rare quality in school life.
He was the kind of boy people remembered.
He participated in every activity. He performed on stage. He shined.
And Sneha?
She stayed in the background.
She couldn't take part in activities. Her confidence level was too low. Her personality held her back.
Days passed.
One year went by.
By sixth standard, Sneha slowly began changing again. She started talking to other students. Sometimes—just a little—she talked to Aman too.
That's when she discovered something.
One of her classmates, a girl named Malkit Kaur, liked Aman as well…