If you are reading this, Hii.
I am Lunch Box. Not the stainless-steel tiffin filled with parathas. Not the squeaky plastic water bottle with cartoon stickers. Me. The diary. The secret vault. The one place where Riya Sharma pours her heart, her doodles, and sometimes crumbs of Kurkure.
People think they know her. "Oh, that chubby girl with the big laugh?" That's all they see. But I? I get the unfiltered version. The tears she hides, the sass she unleashes, the late-night rants when she's lying on her bed, half-eaten packet of chips by her side. I see everything.
So let me introduce my girl — and the circus of people who orbit her.
---
Megha (The Fashion Diva / Best Friend)
Now this one's a riot. Megha struts through life like it's her personal runway. Eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass, nails longer than my spine, and a phone full of Reels ideas. She's Riya's hype-woman and her stylist-in-training. One day she's saying, "Riya, ditch those hoodies and wear a crop top!" The next, she's stealing Riya's last packet of chips without a shred of guilt. Their friendship is basically: Riya supplies snacks, Megha supplies sass. Fair trade? Debatable.
---
Kabir (The Quiet Artist)
Picture this: a boy who barely speaks but sees everything. That's Kabir. Always with his sketchbook, always scribbling like he's auditioning for a mysterious-artist stereotype. He's drawn everyone — the math teacher, the canteen uncle, even that one broken ceiling fan in class. And Riya? Oh, don't get me started. His sketchbook probably has more versions of her face than I have doodles of fries in my margins. Cute? Creepy? Depends on the day.
---
Nisha Sharma (The Cousin Rival)
Every superhero has a villain. Riya's? Cousin Nisha. Tall, slim, selfie-ready, and born with that "perfect nose" every auntie gushes about. Family gatherings are basically "Nisha vs. Riya" comparison Olympics. "Look how fit Nisha is!" "See how confident she is!" And Riya smiles politely while stuffing an extra gulab jamun in her mouth. But later? She rants in me until the ink practically shakes. If jealousy had a face, it'd look suspiciously like Nisha flipping her hair for the 100th time.
---
Varun (The Annoying Cousin)
Ah, Varun. If chaos had a brand ambassador, it would be this boy. He's the kind of cousin who steals Riya's phone, changes her contact names to "Motu" and "Drama Queen," and then laughs until he chokes on bhujia. Riya swears she'll strangle him one day, but here's the thing — when someone else dares to mess with her, Varun turns into Hulk mode. He once punched a boy in tuition class just for calling her "golgappa." Riya yelled at him for days, but let's be honest: she secretly loved it.
---
Aunt Sunita (The Snack Dealer)
Now this woman deserves a crown. If you follow the smell of frying samosas in Riya's neighborhood, you'll land in Aunt Sunita's kitchen. She's the unofficial queen of snacks — samosas crispier than math teacher's mood, pakoras fluffier than Megha's eyeliner brushes, and jalebis sweeter than Riya's laugh. Every time Riya fights with her mom, guess where she runs? Straight to Aunt Sunita's kitchen, where the motto is: No one leaves without extra food packed in foil. Honestly, if peace treaties were signed with samosas, Aunt Sunita could end wars.
---
Professor Sharma (The Sleeper)
If there's one villain more dangerous than Cousin Nisha, it's Professor Sharma. His superpower? Turning even the most exciting topic into a lullaby. Imagine someone describing a dinosaur attack as if it were a grocery list. That's him. History lectures feel like listening to a snoring buffalo. Riya and her friends survive his classes with doodles, whispered jokes, and chips smuggled under the desk. I've seen her write: "Dear Lunch Box, if I die of boredom, blame Professor Sharma." Mood, honestly.
---
Naina (The Overachiever)
Every class has a Naina. Perfect grades. Perfect handwriting. Perfectly polished shoes. She raises her hand before the teacher even finishes the question, like she has a sixth sense for exam patterns. On the outside, she's polite — "Riya, maybe you should study more." But deep inside? Oh, she envies Riya's ability to laugh loud, be messy, and still have people adore her. Naina has applause in exam halls; Riya has applause in life. And that stings. Frenemy? Absolutely.
---
Mr. & Mrs. Sharma (The Parents)
Finally, the pillars of Riya's world.
Mrs. Sharma is the classic worried mom — equal parts love and nagging. Every morning, she packs me (with secrets, not food — that's tiffin's job) and fusses over Riya's uniform. She says things like "Beta, diet kab start karegi?" while simultaneously frying parathas in butter. Hypocrisy? Delicious, golden hypocrisy.
Mr. Sharma, on the other hand, is quiet. He's an accountant who loves balance sheets more than social drama. But when Riya cracks a joke at the dinner table, he hides his smile behind the newspaper. Trust me, that's dad-code for: "I'm proud of you, kiddo."
---
So far, I've told you about the noisy cousins, the snack-obsessed aunt, the topper-rival, the glam bestie, and the boy with pencils instead of words.
But now… it's time. Time for me to tell you about the girl who gives me life. Literally.
Her name? Riya Sharma.
And let me set one thing straight: people call her "the chubby girl" like it's her whole personality. Ugh. Excuse me? No. She's a full-blown universe, thank you very much.
Let me paint the picture.
Riya isn't the kind of "Instagram-perfect" beauty who looks like she walked out of a Zara ad. Nope. She's the kind who makes a room warmer just by walking in. Her hair—dark, thick, and always tied up in a messy ponytail with strands falling over her forehead—has a habit of escaping every clip, every band, like it's staging a rebellion. Her eyes? Oh, don't get me started. Large, brown, always curious. They sparkle when Megha cracks a joke, narrow when Naina flexes her perfect grades, and soften whenever she sees Aunt Sunita's samosas.
Her cheeks are soft, round, and honestly? They glow pink whenever she's embarrassed or laughing too hard. (Kabir sketched them once, and I swear even his charcoal pencil blushed.) And that smile—wide, genuine, the kind that makes people forgive her instantly when she eats the last aloo tikki.
She's not skinny. Not "model thin." But every curve on her? It tells a story. Like how her mom's ladoos kept her sane during exam season, or how she never said no to sharing Maggi with Varun on the terrace. Her body is her diary too, one written in bites of joy, laughter, and second helpings.
And clothes? Don't even get me started. Megha keeps trying to force crop tops on her, but Riya's signature outfit is hoodies two sizes too big and sneakers that have seen better days. She dresses for comfort, not for catwalks. And you know what? Somehow, she still manages to look better than half the girls who spend hours curating "aesthetic outfits."
People might say she's "normal." But normal doesn't make Naina secretly envious, Kabir quietly inspired, or her cousins rally around her when things get tough. Riya's beauty isn't the loud, spotlight kind. It's the kind you feel when she looks at you with those huge eyes and makes you laugh till your stomach hurts.
And me? I see it all. Every strand of messy hair. Every doodle in the margins of her homework. Every teardrop she pretends doesn't exist. She's beautiful not because the world says so, but because she is.
And that's why I, Lunch Box, her silent witness, will protect her story. Page after page. Secret after secret. Until she finally sees what I see—
That Riya Sharma is extraordinary.
---
And there you have it. The family, the frenemies, the food suppliers, and the chaos machines that swirl around my girl. Together, they create the stormy, hilarious, frustrating universe I get to witness every single day.
But here's the thing — they only see parts of her. The loud laugh, the clumsy walks, the messy notes. Me? I see all of it. The soft parts, the dreams, the cracks she hides. And believe me, Riya Sharma's story is just getting started.