Her Father’s Princess

🖤 His Sahiba

Chapter 1– Her Father’s Princess

“Sir, please… hold your daughter.”

The nurse’s voice was gentle, but Rajesh Shah didn’t move. His eyes were locked on the lifeless body lying on the hospital bed. His wife, Naina. The woman he had loved since he was nineteen.

“Naina…” His voice cracked as he clutched her cold hand. “How am I supposed to do this without you?”

The newborn wailed in the nurse’s arms, small fists waving angrily at the world. “Sir, she needs you.”

Rajesh turned at last. His hands trembled as he reached for the baby. The moment he held her, she quieted, blinking up at him with wide, dark eyes.

“She looks like you, sir,” the nurse whispered.

Rajesh shook his head, tears spilling freely. “No… she looks like my entire world.”

From that day forward, Vishwa Shah was not just his daughter. She was his reason to breathe.

Infancy (0–3 years)

Being a single father was chaos. Rajesh was a businessman who could handle million-rupee deals, but diapers? Lullabies? Impossible.

The first night home, little Vishwa screamed so loudly the neighbors knocked, asking if something was wrong. Rajesh carried her around, begging.

“Please, beti, bas chup hoja. Papa will buy you every toy shop in Mumbai if you just stop crying.”

She only wailed louder. In desperation, he cleared his throat and started singing in the worst tune imaginable:

“Aaloo ke parathe, ghee lagake khaate…”

Vishwa froze mid-cry. A moment later, she hiccupped and giggled.

Rajesh blinked at her. “Wait… that worked?”

Her giggles grew.

He let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over him. “Fine then, princess. Every night, your Papa will sing… even if the neighbors file a complaint.”

And so, her lullabies were born—tuneless songs about vegetables, cricket scores, and office politics.

Bath times were worse.

“Sir, let the maid help,” the housekeeper had begged once.

“No,” Rajesh said firmly, sleeves rolled up. “I’ll do it.”

Ten minutes later, he was soaked head to toe, while Vishwa splashed happily in the tub.

“Arre, stop wriggling, beti!”

She squealed, kicking more water at him.

Rajesh groaned. “Naina, wherever you are, see what your daughter is doing to me.”

Finally, sighing in defeat, he sat right in the tub beside her—fully clothed. Vishwa laughed so hard she forgot to be naughty.

Toddlerhood (3–5 years)

By three, she had him trained.

“Papa, piggyback!”

“Princess, Papa just came from work, Papa is tired—”

“Piggyback!” She stomped her tiny foot.

Rajesh raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. But don’t pull my hair this time.”

The moment she climbed on, she tugged hard. “Giddy up, horse!”

He groaned. “I’m your father, not a ghoda!”

“Yes, ghoda!” she insisted.

So he galloped around the living room, neighing so loudly that the watchman came upstairs to check if everything was alright.

At bedtime, she refused to sleep without a story. Since Rajesh didn’t remember any fairytales, he made them up.

“And then,” he said dramatically, “the princess told the dragon, ‘If you don’t let me eat ice cream for dinner, I’ll burn your castle.’”

Vishwa gasped. “Papa! That’s not how stories go!”

Rajesh smirked. “In my stories, princesses can do anything they want. Especially mine.”

She fell asleep smiling.

Childhood (6–10 years)

By school age, Rajesh had become an expert at fatherhood—or so he claimed.

Every morning, he stood behind her with a comb, tongue poking out in concentration, trying to braid her hair.

“Papa, this looks like a rope!” she pouted at her reflection.

He admired his work proudly. “Not a rope. A magic rope. Strong enough to pull down the moon if you want.”

She groaned. “Other girls have neat braids. Their mamas do it.”

His smile faltered, but he knelt in front of her. “Beti, you don’t need neat braids. You just need a Papa who loves you more than anything. And you have that.”

Her pout melted. She hugged him tight.

At her school functions, Rajesh was always the loudest clapper.

When Vishwa played a tree in a school skit, he jumped from his seat, clapping wildly. “That’s my daughter! The most beautiful tree in the jungle!”

The audience laughed, but Vishwa beamed.

Later, she asked shyly, “Papa, did I look silly?”

“Silly? You were the star, beti. Even real trees must be jealous.”

There were everyday moments too:

When she scraped her knee, he blew on it. “Pain, pain, go away. Otherwise, I’ll beat you up.”

When she wanted a toy:

“Princess, you already have too many.”

“But this one is lonely without me!”

He sighed, defeated. “Fine. But only because it’s lonely.”

When his cooking failed:

“Papa, this dal is salty.”

He tasted it, winced, then shrugged. “That’s because it has Papa’s extra tears missing your Mama. Now eat.”

She rolled her eyes, but secretly loved his silly excuses.

Emotional Core

One night, when she was eight, Vishwa asked softly, “Papa… why don’t I have a Mama like the other kids?”

Rajesh froze. Slowly, he pulled her into his lap.

“Because God was selfish, beti. He took your Mama to heaven. But He left me the best part of her—you.”

Vishwa sniffled. “Then I’ll be Mama for you too, okay? I’ll take care of you.”

His voice broke as he kissed her head. “No, princess. You don’t need to be anyone else. Just be my Vishwa. That’s more than enough.”

That night, after she slept, Rajesh sat beside her, brushing her hair back gently. His whisper filled the dark.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve her, Naina. But I swear on your soul—I’ll protect her. Always.”

And he did. For as long as fate allowed.

✨

 The Man Who Became Family

Rajesh Shah first met Avinash Thakur not in a boardroom, but in the most unlikely place—an orphanage.

It had been twelve years ago. Rajesh, newly widowed, had been donating supplies in memory of Naina when he noticed a tall young man quietly helping children with their homework.

Unlike most, Avinash wasn’t a staff member. He had grown up there himself. An orphan.

Rajesh remembered their first conversation clearly.

“You don’t live here anymore, do you?” Rajesh asked curiously.

Avinash shook his head. “No. The orphanage raised me. Now, I try to give back whenever I can.”

Something in his voice—firm, steady, with the weight of loneliness—struck Rajesh deeply.

From then on, a friendship grew between them. Rajesh was ten years older, but Avinash’s maturity, discipline, and loyalty made him someone Rajesh could trust in a way he trusted very few.

By the time Vishwa turned ten, Avinash had become a part of their little world.

First Meeting with Vishwa (Age 10)

It was a sunny afternoon when Rajesh brought Avinash home for the first time.

“Beti, come here,” Rajesh called, his voice filled with excitement. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Vishwa peeked shyly from behind the curtain, hugging her stuffed rabbit.

A tall man stood near the sofa, his posture straight, his shirt crisp. His eyes, dark and sharp, softened instantly when they fell on the little girl.

“This is Avinash,” Rajesh introduced warmly. “My best friend. More like my younger brother.”

Avinash crouched down, lowering himself to her eye level. His voice was deep, calm, but gentle in a way that instantly soothed.

“So this is the famous princess,” he said, a small smile tugging his lips. “Your Papa talks about you all the time.”

Vishwa blinked, curious. “Really?”

“Really,” Avinash replied, pulling a small chocolate bar from his pocket. “And he didn’t exaggerate. You’re even prettier than I imagined.”

Her cheeks flushed as she accepted it. “Thank you, Uncle.”

Rajesh laughed, ruffling her hair. “See? Already won her heart.”

“Or maybe she’s already won mine,” Avinash murmured, almost to himself.

That day, the foundation of something unspoken was laid.

Growing Up (10–14)

From then on, Avinash was around often. Sometimes for tea, sometimes late-night talks with Rajesh, sometimes just to drop by with little gifts for Vishwa.

He became more than just a “guest”—he became family.

Funny moments filled those years:

At the dining table:

“Papa, I don’t want bhindi!” Vishwa pouted.

“It’s good for you,” Rajesh insisted.

“I’ll die if I eat it.”

Avinash smirked. “Then die. But you won’t be able to watch cartoons in heaven.”

Vishwa gasped in horror, quickly stuffing a spoonful into her mouth.

Rajesh burst out laughing. “Avi, you’re too cruel!”

Arm wrestling wars:

Vishwa once told Avinash, “Papa says he’s stronger than you.”

Rajesh choked on his tea. “I never—”

“You did!” she interrupted gleefully.

Minutes later, the two men were arm wrestling while Vishwa cheered like a referee.

“Come on, Papa! You can do it!”

“No, Uncle Avi is winning!”

Avinash pinned Rajesh’s hand easily.

Vishwa squealed, clapping. “See! Uncle Avi is the strongest!”

Rajesh slumped dramatically. “Traitor! Supporting him over your own Papa?”

Vishwa stuck out her tongue. “I support winners only.”

Homework nights:

Rajesh hated maths, so he’d call Avinash.

“Bhai, come save me,” he begged. “She has ten algebra problems, and I have zero patience.”

Avinash chuckled, sitting beside Vishwa, calmly explaining equations. She hung on every word, her big eyes focused on him with admiration.

Avinash’s Past and Gentle Wisdom

Vishwa grew attached to Avinash. She noticed he always spoke to her like she mattered, never dismissing her as “just a child.”

One evening, curious, she asked, “Uncle Avi, why do you always help at the orphanage Papa takes me to?”

His expression softened. “Because once, I was one of those children.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yes. I grew up there. I had no parents. But the women there—the caretakers—they taught me many things. How to read, how to cook, even how to take care of little ones. They were the only family I had.”

Vishwa’s heart swelled. “Then… I’ll be your family too!”

Rajesh chuckled. “Looks like you’re stuck with us, Avi.”

For the first time, Avinash allowed himself a real smile. “I think I’m lucky to be.”

The Day of Change (Age 15)

It happened suddenly.

Vishwa was fifteen when she rushed into her room one evening, pale and trembling. Rajesh followed, panicked. “Beti? What’s wrong? Open the door!”

Her voice cracked. “Papa… something’s wrong. I’m bleeding!”

Rajesh’s heart stopped. “Bleeding?!” He banged the door. “Avinash! Come quickly!”

Avinash entered, calm but alert. “Vishwa, open the door. Trust me.”

Hesitantly, she unlocked it. She stood there, eyes wide with fear, pointing at the stain on her skirt.

Rajesh’s face turned white. “Oh God, we need a doctor—”

“No,” Avinash interrupted firmly, stepping closer. His voice was steady, reassuring. “She doesn’t need a doctor. This is normal.”

“Normal?!” Rajesh sputtered. “Avi, she’s bleeding!”

Avinash’s gaze softened as he crouched in front of Vishwa. “Vishwa… you’ve just had your first period. It means you’re growing up. Every girl goes through this.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Growing up? But I don’t understand what to do…”

Avinash’s throat tightened. The little girl who once hid behind her Papa was gone. Standing before him was a young woman taking her first step into womanhood.

He cleared his throat, forcing steadiness. “I’ll help. The women at the orphanage taught me how to care for girls when this happens. I know what you need.”

He handed her a discreet bag with pads, explaining gently, step by step. Rajesh stood by, still flustered but nodding along, trying to comfort her with clumsy pats.

“Beti, don’t be scared,” Rajesh whispered. “Your Papa and Uncle are here.”

Vishwa bit her lip, cheeks pink. “Thank you… both of you.”

For her, it was safety. For Rajesh, it was pride and sorrow all at once. But for Avinash… it was something else.

A sharp, forbidden awareness. She wasn’t a little girl anymore. And that realization scared him more than anything ever had.

Aftermath

In the weeks that followed, Avinash grew quieter around her. When she laughed, he looked away. When she entered the room, he excused himself with talk of “work.”

Rajesh teased him once, “Why do you run every time she’s around? She adores you.”

Avinash forced a smile. “Maybe too much.”

But inside, he knew the truth. Vishwa was no longer the child he could tease about cartoons and homework.

And the feelings beginning to stir in his chest… were feelings he had no right to have.

✨

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