The twilight party at Rajesh Patel's terraced French-inspired mansion was a spectacle of neon lights, gourmet delicacies, and Mumbai's elite. Manasi, the queen bee, perched gracefully on a plush sun lounger, sipping red wine alongside Monika and Maina.

“Her. The whale by the buffet table, scarfing down the monogram cookies. Guaranteed she’s never getting a boyfriend.” Monika’s whisper, loud enough to sting, cut through the ambient music. Maina and Manasi erupted in laughter, a practiced, hollow sound. Manasi’s perfect porcelain cheeks crinkled, but a flicker of unease crossed her eyes. She ran a hand over her toned curves, a silent, anxious check.

As the mocked girl fled in tears, Manasi sighed, burying her face behind her glass. A year ago, that would have been her. The fat girl. The one invited only to be made fun of. The thought sent a familiar tremor through her, a stark reminder of the hell she'd endured to become the 'perfect' Manasi. The Manasi who smiled, laughed, and starved herself for the world.

Monika pouted, bored. “You can only laugh at a lazy fat person so many times.”

Manasi’s eyes glinted. “Mon, Mai, we need to spice things up.” Her manicured nails tapped a scheming rhythm against her glass. “I want to find a guy who is really unique. Someone fresh and new. A real challenge. Make him fall in love with me, mess around with him and then….”

“Dump him publicly!” The trio chorused, dissolving into another fit of calculated hysterics, their laughter echoing the empty perfection of their world.