Framed by the Class Fund: Hostel Scandal / Chapter 3: The Accusation Storm
Framed by the Class Fund: Hostel Scandal

Framed by the Class Fund: Hostel Scandal

Author: Isha Verma

Chapter 3: The Accusation Storm

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Before I could explain, Ananya—the class’s most cash-strapped student—started furiously tagging me.

Ananya’s reputation preceded her—always counting her coins, always first to ask about refunds. She was the kind who’d haggle with auto-walas over five rupees and still find a way to look dignified doing it.

She led the group in demanding I return the class fund:

[@Sneha, how could you use the class fund to reimburse your travel expenses? Can’t you pay for yourself?]

[Why use everyone’s money for your ₹5000 travel expense?]

[I was wondering why the class fund was so short. Turns out it went into your pocket.]

Ananya was the one who first suggested splitting the class fund. Only after the prefect and the study committee discussed it did they agree to calculate how much each person could get.

No wonder she was so angry.

Ananya’s voice always carried weight in the group. If she started a crusade, you could bet half the class would follow. She had that stubborn, ‘main nahin manungi’ tone that even teachers hesitated to cross.

Even though I was exhausted, I got out of bed and carefully checked the class fund spreadsheet. I twisted the corner of my bedsheet, heart racing as I opened the file. The hostel clock glowed 3:15 AM now, and my head was pounding. My fingers trembled as I scrolled through rows of expenses, trying to find anything that could clear my name.

I anxiously asked my roommate, Meera:

"Meera, did your boyfriend mess up the class fund records? I never used class money for travel. Why did the prefect put that as the first line? Now everyone thinks I stole ₹5000. Please help me explain."

I said it half in panic, half in frustration. Meera was the only one who could talk sense into her boyfriend, the all-powerful prefect.

Meera yawned, flicked the curtain shut, and plugged in her earphones, shutting me out with the finality of a hostel warden’s lights-out bell. She didn’t even look at me as she said, "I don’t know either. The prefect was busy all day and is tired. Ask him tomorrow."

With a quick swipe, she shut herself off from the world, leaving me with my racing thoughts and the angry WhatsApp mob. I could hear the faint buzz of her phone on the other side, proof that she too was getting bombarded.

But I couldn’t sleep at all.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw angry emojis and red exclamation marks. Even the rustle of the neem tree outside couldn’t soothe me. The fear of waking up to worse accusations was real.

Everyone had been looking forward to a refund today, and now this happened. If I didn’t explain, I’d be drowned in the group’s backlash.

So I quickly posted in the group:

[I really don’t know about this. I never got reimbursed from the class fund.]

It was the truth, but I could already sense the disbelief. In an Indian class, once a rumour starts, it spreads faster than a viral dance reel. I typed and deleted my message thrice before finally hitting send.

Of course, no one believed me. Anyone who saw the spreadsheet would assume I’d pocketed ₹5000.

The spreadsheet had become gospel truth, and I was its only casualty. I could almost picture the gossip brewing in the canteen tomorrow—‘Sneha ne toh kamaal kar diya!’

Ananya kept tagging me:

[We don’t agree with you using the class fund for travel. You must return it.]

[Yeah, you really treat the class fund as your own pocket money.]

[You go and reimburse ₹5000 in travel expenses—are we just extras in your drama?]

[Return the money!]

Each new tag felt like a slap. Even the emojis seemed more aggressive than usual.

Frustrated, I bombarded the prefect with messages:

[Prefect, you must have made a mistake!]

[Prefect, say something!]

[Bhai, yeh kya scam hai? Kal toh bola paisa milega, abhi toh aur dena hai?]

I didn’t care about his sleep anymore. If he could start this mess at 2:30 AM, he could jolly well fix it too.

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