Chapter 4: The Wall Strikes Again

Early the next morning, a classmate stopped me on my way to college. "Neha, you’re on the confession wall! Go check it out!"

I opened my phone, heart pounding. Sure enough, my photo was at the top, attracting a storm of comments.

"Is this girl dating the class topper? Why is she so close to the academic star? Kya scene hai, yaar? Full filmy!"

In the picture, Rohan and I were bent over a maths project, but the post dripped with innuendo.

The comments section was lit:

"Arrey, isn’t Neha the topper of Class 12? Always so serious, and now she’s stuck to the class topper?"

"No wonder she never accepts love letters. Turns out she’s only got eyes for the guy at the top. Forget it, forget it."

"The class topper isn’t dating anyone. Poster, he said himself that this year is crucial—he wouldn’t let anyone distract him."

"Oh, so she’s the one chasing him~~"

Hinglish replies and emojis flooded in:

"Bhai, Neha full on savage! 😂🔥"

"Bas karo yaar, ab toh Bigg Boss shuru ho gaya."

When I entered class, I saw it—a fresh black mark on my desk. ‘Slut’ in bold, ugly letters.

There were only a few students this early. Priya watched me with a sly grin.

"Famous now, aren’t you, superstar?"

She blew a mango-flavoured bubble, glancing at my desk. "Whoever wrote this has neat handwriting."

She pretended to scan the room, then leaned in and whispered, "Samajh gayi na? This seat is mine. Rohan is mine too."

Tears stung my eyes. I wiped at the word with my dupatta, hands trembling, and looked up at the freedom fighter portraits for courage. My shoulders shook as I tried not to break down, but the tears came anyway, smudging my kohl. Some girls exchanged worried glances; a boy silently passed me a hanky. My sobs seemed to echo through the high ceilings, drowning out the usual morning noise. For once, even Priya seemed speechless as the class teacher entered.