Chapter 1: Whispers and Accusations

Because I had to go to the hospital a few times, the parents joined forces to complain about me.

The school corridor buzzed with the smell of fresh paint and the clatter of tiffin boxes as parents clustered together, their eyes flicking toward me whenever I passed. The murmurs started as low whispers during PTMs but soon swelled into a chorus: “Final year hai, madam/sir! Aap class teacher ho, 24/7 available rehna chahiye. Hospital jaane ki kya zarurat thi?” The frustration in their voices was as sharp as the screech of an auto’s brakes in peak Mumbai traffic.

“Even on weekends, kuch ho gaya toh hum aapko kaise reach karein? Agar aapko zimmedari ka ehsaas nahi hai toh kaise class teacher keh sakte ho apne aapko?” Their accusations buzzed around me like a swarm of mosquitoes—relentless, finding every excuse to bite and leave a sting.

“In the end, it’s just selfishness. Aise logon ko teaching ka koi haq nahi.” My ears burned, as if gossip was swirling about me on the building terrace, verdicts spreading like wildfire from one flat to another in a Mumbai chawl.

I was left both furious and stunned.

For two years, I’d run myself ragged—lifting the class from the bottom to the top. I’d worked myself sick, never daring to take even a single day off, always afraid it would affect the students.

And now, I was being called selfish.

When my students heard I’d been reported, every one of them looked cold and indifferent, faces unreadable, lost in their own worlds. Not a flicker of concern—almost as if I was a stranger, not the teacher who had guided them through so many battles of homework and revision.

My heart turned cold.

Whoever wants to be class teacher, let them take it. I let out a long sigh, the kind that echoes at the end of a hard day when the fan spins lazily overhead.

A few months later, the same group of parents showed up at my door: “Teacher Rohan, please, hum aapke pair pakad ke maangte hain, wapas aa jao.” Their voices were softer now, some with hands pressed together in apology, eyes darting everywhere except my face.