Chapter 2: Laughter, Shame, and the End of a Dream

After I said, 'I like you,' the one who reacted the most wasn't Arjun. It was the PT monitor, standing right next to his desk. 'What? Priya, did you just say you like Arjun bhaiya?' His voice magnified my secret, echoing through the classroom, drowning out the chatter.

For a moment, even the ceiling fans seemed to whir louder in the sudden hush. Heads turned, eyes wide, mouths half-open. Then the break descended into louder laughter than before. Girls exchanged knowing glances, hands over mouths to stifle giggles. Boys nudged each other, muttering. My name floated at the back, mixed with 'moti' and 'Arjun bhaiya,' the sound digging deep into my chest.

'Damn, Arjun bhaiya really is something. His charm’s so great even the moti in our class likes him.'

Ravi, the class joker, cackled. 'Wah, Arjun bhaiya, kya baat hai! Ab toh moti bhi line mein hai!'

'Arjun bhaiya, you’ve turned down so many confessions, but you like fat girls? Wah re bhaiya!'

Shikha rolled her eyes, trying to hide her smirk. I felt all their eyes crawling over me, poking at every bit of flesh I tried to hide. Arjun’s smile faded. He looked at me, tone calm. 'Are you serious?' His eyes flickered between amusement and something colder. My face burned. I lowered my head, wishing I could vanish. The bench creaked beneath me, and the ink on my notebook blurred as I blinked away tears. No matter how much I swallowed, my throat burned.

I never expected Arjun to get angry just because people laughed at me. Maybe I should have confessed after school. My mind raced with regret, wishing I could stuff the words back in my pocket like leftover lunch.

Suddenly, a loud crash snapped me out of my thoughts. Arjun had stood up and kicked over his desk. The sharp sound of wood against terrazzo jolted everyone. Chalk dust rose, mingling with the smell of sweat, old textbooks, and the whir of the fan. Someone rustled their poly-covered notebook; I saw the word 'Moti' scribbled on the desk. For a heartbeat, even the flies froze.

His books scattered at my feet, one sliding under my sandal. I felt a sudden urge to cry—not because of the laughter, but because the class had gone so still, as if something irreversible had happened. The classmates who'd been teasing us exchanged nervous glances, shifting away. Someone muttered, 'Bas kar yaar, Arjun,' while the class monitor glanced at the door, worried about a teacher's footsteps.

Arjun looked down at me from above, half-smiling. 'I'm just curious, what made you think of confessing to me? Do you think I have some kind of weird taste?'

His voice was mocking, but too soft to be a full insult. Everyone’s gaze turned back to me—some pitying, some gleeful. I froze, face drained of colour. I pressed my palms together under the desk, nails digging in, hoping pain would keep me from crying.

Arjun’s tone was slow, almost gentle. 'Arrey, Moti. Don’t you think you’re pretty disgusting?'

The words felt heavier than the books on the floor. The air thickened, sticky with sweat and humiliation. My ears burned, but I refused to let a tear fall. Not in front of all these people.