Chapter 8: Kindness, Kurkure, and Small Triumphs

Kabir and I went almost a month without speaking, sitting side by side in silence. I guarded my words, afraid things would end up like they did with the study prefect.

But one day, after class, I noticed him lying on his desk, hand to his stomach, shoulders trembling. His fingers curled into a fist, sweat on his brow. After a moment’s hesitation, I asked, 'Does your stomach hurt?'

He nodded, barely lifting his head. 'Mm.'

'Let me help you to the infirmary.' He didn’t refuse. The boy, nearly 1.9 metres tall, leaned on me. I braced myself, grateful for all the years of carrying heavy schoolbags and groceries for Dadi. 'Don’t worry, Kabir. I can carry at least three buckets of water at once. You’re nothing!'

The nurse gave him medicine, told me to buy khichdi. I ran to the canteen, nearly spilling the bowl twice, but made it back. Kabir’s eyes—bright, mischievous, grateful—met mine. 'You dislike me so much, but you’re still willing to help me? Pretty kind, bench partner.'

'I don’t dislike you. I thought you hated me, so I didn’t talk to you.'

'Why?'

'Because I’m fat.' The words came out flat. Kabir chuckled, his eyes clear and kind. Not pity—just acceptance. He never took off his mask or hat, and never spoke to anyone except me. No matter how much I teased, he would just shrug and change the subject. The mystery made the girls in class more curious.

We started sharing notes, sometimes even a packet of Kurkure or a toffee passed under the desk. Sometimes, I caught myself smiling at his silly doodles on my notebook margin. Slowly, our silences became comfortable.

Without noticing, I slimmed down to 58 kg. Dadi was overjoyed, measuring my waist every Sunday, letting me have a spoonful of ghee as a reward. 'Shabash, Priya! Soon you’ll be the slimmest girl in the colony.'