Observing all of my flaws, I stroked my face as I looked in the mirror. The recently formed pimples on my cheek stood out even more because of the drab appearance of my light brown skin. My dark eyes were shaded, one of which was larger than the other, and my chin protruded significantly. I bit my parched lips far too often for my own good, and a bead of blood was forming on the bottom right. My nose appeared flat, and the bags under my eyes gave the impression that I had come back from the dead. Even my favorite features, my thick hair, and big eyelashes, appeared lifeless.

Even though I had just taken a hot bath, I leaned down and sprayed water on my face. I still looked like I have gotten out of sleep. I used one hand to restrain my unruly hair. But a sprinkle of water turned the smooth fabric of my white Pyjama slightly translucent. I came to the same conclusion after reexamining my appearance: washing my face only makes me appear damp and caused the frizz in my hair to stick to my forehead. I sighed in defeat before giving up and stomping back to my room to get dressed.

Today marks the first day of my final college year. I chose a Churidar (Indian) dress at random because I didn't sure what to wear. I adored wearing jeans, but they made my fat physique look too obvious. Although I was aware that the color probably didn't mix well together, I wore it nevertheless since it was comfy and I couldn't care less what people thought of me. Well, maybe I did, but only somewhat.

I walked to the full-length mirror hanging on my bedroom door and slouched a little as I looked in the mirror. My hair definitely looked bad, but my clothes weren't too bad either. I grinned and reached for a brush, ignoring the pain in my scalp as I jerkily attempted to brush the strands out. After giving up, I just ran the comb through the resistant hair a few more times, carefully picking out the hairs to toss, and then tying them back into a ponytail. I would have loved to let my hair down, but it would look terrible, so I was forced to continue wearing it in a ponytail, even though it resembled a bushy squirrel's tail.

I gave myself one more glance, scowling at my hairstyle and the frizz that surrounded it but still accepting it. I was hardly ever noticed, so it wasn't like my appearance meant much to me; it was nice enough. I slung my timeless black bag pack over one shoulder, grabbed my phone so I could contact my dad to let him know I'd made it to college safely, and grabbed a backup scrunchie in case my hair tie broke again.

Just over the last two weeks, I had around three scrunchies in the garbage. It would be a day of pigs flying if I could find a hair tie that could hold my thick, copious hair. Or maybe the end of the planet, which would fit in well with my bad luck. Finding a useful hair tie, only to never utilize it.

I've always wanted to teach, so after finishing my 12th grade, I applied for admission to the Bachelor of Elementary Education program. My mother, a teacher who died of cancer when I was 15 years old, and my father works in a corporate office. She was a strong woman who never displayed anguish or pain when she was in it. She had a constant smile on her face. She would confide in Papa when my sister and I were not around. I once overheard her saying, behind the closed door, that she was taking these steps to raise her daughters to be independent women. I aspire to be a good mother, wife, and teacher like her.

When I left the room, I noticed my father chatting with my mother as he stood in front of her picture. Every day, seeing him in this state hurt my heart. He desperately misses her. To give him time to speak with Mumma, I turned away from him. My sister had just started at my institution; she had been admitted for the first year, but she was in the engineering department. I went into her room. She was dozing off when I walked into her bedroom. I sat on the bed and ran my palm over my sister's head.

"Good morning, Riya. Rise and shine." I gently remarked.

"You need to start getting ready for college," but she yanked my hand away.

She put the pillow on her head and moaned, "Go away, don't annoy me."

"Come on, you're going to be late. We must catch the bus, or else we will have to walk," I remarked as I drew closer to her.

She woke up, said "Get lost, you loser," looked at me with utter disgust, and then went into the loo. My sister is quite unkind to me and doesn't really like me, so I don't know why she treats me this way. We were the greatest friends during our time in school, but after she started college, she began to ignore me and eventually stopped communicating with me. She stopped talking to me when Papa wasn't around at the end of last year.

Papa was preparing breakfast for us as I emerged from her bedroom.

My father grinned and said, "Breakfast is ready, Harshu."

I answered, "Good morning, papa. Whatever you have prepared smells wonderful."

I slouched down to the dining table, removed my bag, and set my phone down on the table. My body slammed into the chair. A plate was put in front of me by my father.

"Upma (Semolina breakfast Dish) ?" I smiled as I stared at the common South Indian breakfast item that I inevitably adore every time. It was also Maa's favorite.

"Give me some Sev, papa (the little noodles made of chickpea flour paste that were cooked after being covered in delectable spices). Sev always improved the breakfast." I spoke.

"Yes, Harshu," said Father. I was about to delve into the bowl of Sev and enjoy it with the Upma When I was interrupted.

"Didi, why do you consume such greasy, stiff food? You're exploding? "

My sister asked, "Don't you think you should diet?" She was correct; I was blowing up and ought to stay away from such things. She only raised an eyebrow when I grinned at her. I shut the box one more before dining on my Upma.

"Riya, good morning. Come, eat breakfast with us?" Coming out of the kitchen and getting her plate, my papa replied.

"I'm on a diet, so no, papa. I'm the popular student at my school." Blowing air on her nail, she added, "I don't want to destroy my figure."

Papa said, "Come on, try this nutritious food. Tell her that Harshu."

"Ohh Dad please," she chuckled. "Let Harshita heed her own advice. I don't require her opinion. I don't have to be known as the college's pig."

Papa remarked, "Riya, is this how to treat you sister?" tears started to well up in my eyes.

I finished eating breakfast, washed my hands, grabbed my phone and backpack, and I almost immediately sprinted out the door.

"I'm running late for college, papa. I'll see you later on. Bye!" I said.

Take your sister along with you. Harshu, this is her first day," my father replied, and I waited.

"I'm not a commoner, so please, papa, so i won't take a bus or other local transportation." She said, "One of my friends is giving me a ride," and then a car honked. One smart-looking man came out and stood next to the automobile. She sped by me and entered his car as soon as she reached him.

"Do you know the boy, Harshu? her new boyfriend?" Father said.

"Papa, I have no idea."

My father commanded, "Harshu, take care of her."

Eight years have gone since our mother died away, yet we are still having trouble accepting it. Although Riya was too little to comprehend what was happening, I had to develop quickly in order to take care of everyone, including myself.

I gave him a hug and said, "Take care, papa. I'll see you in the evening."

I then started walking towards the bus stop to board the bus. It was early in the morning, around 8, and there wasn't much traffic. The road is frequently completely stopped, although the people there are rarely busy.