Chapter 1: The Washroom Reckoning

Final Year.

My hands still tremble when I remember that day—nails digging into my palms, the way Amma used to when she was angry. I was falsely accused of theft by my own benchmate, dragged into the girls’ washroom, and beaten mercilessly.

The memory of that humiliation clings to my skin like sticky summer sweat after a power cut—those moments replaying endlessly, as if the fans had stopped spinning and time itself had frozen on my shame. The harsh fluorescent lights flickered above, and I could hear the sound of girls giggling behind closed doors, mingling with the distant shouts of the PT teacher scolding someone outside. For a second, I wondered if this was some twisted scene from one of those overdramatic Hindi serials Amma always watched in the evenings, but no—this was my real life, my real disgrace. My throat tightened, and my heartbeat thudded in my ears.

When I finally limped out, blinking back tears, I ran into the class teacher on her way to the washroom.

She grabbed me by the ear, her bangles clinking, and hauled me out to the playground, scolding me in front of all the teachers and students.

Her fingers dug into my ear, twisting it the way only Indian teachers know how—enough to sting, but not quite break the skin. The sharp slap of her chappals echoed off the playground wall. My face burned with embarrassment, and I could feel the whole school staring, whispers travelling like wildfire. The chowkidar paused by the school gate, trying to see what the commotion was. The peon carrying a stack of attendance registers stopped in his tracks, his eyes darting between me and madam. I kept my gaze low, toes scraping the playground dust, wishing the earth would just swallow me up.

She shouted that I’d been hiding in the girls’ washroom to peep at the girls.

No matter how much I tried to defend myself, it was pointless.

I became the notorious troublemaker, hated by everyone.

Every Monday at the assembly, the discipline in-charge would make me go up on stage to be publicly shamed.

My grades dropped, my temper grew more extreme, and eventually, I developed a serious mental illness.

I just couldn’t cope with the board exams, so I had to start working early.

Hardly anyone would hire me.

By sheer luck, I got a job, but within a few days, rumours about my mental illness and the peeping incident in the girls’ washroom started spreading.

I completely lost control.

I jumped off the balcony from the 32nd floor of an office building in Navi Mumbai.

Landed right on the back of my head.

Died in a most undignified way.

When I opened my eyes again—

I was actually back on that day, in the girls’ washroom.