Chapter 3: Shadows and Smoke

"Can you lend Ananya a sanitary pad?" My mind froze. Of all things, this?

For a moment, I thought I'd misheard. Did he really say that? I blinked, confused. But of course—why else would Rohan talk to me? What did I expect? For him to ask about physics homework? Or to say he liked my handwriting? Ha! No chance.

It was just that someone was in the classroom, and that someone happened to be a girl. I felt like an extra in my own story, only there for someone else’s convenience.

I pulled one out and handed it to him, then lay back down on my desk. Didn’t even look him in the eye. Let him think I was rude—kya farak padta hai?

Half an hour later, Rohan returned, face dark, voice cold. People stopped talking to watch the drama.

"What did you give me? After Ananya used it, she kept saying she was cold. Now she's fainted and is getting a drip in the infirmary."

My ears rang. Was this a joke? Some new way to humiliate me?

I froze, about to explain, but Rohan’s scolding hit me like a slap:

"If you're going to give someone period products, can't you buy better quality? I can't imagine what kind of girl you are—you almost hurt Ananya!"

His tone was so harsh, everyone flinched. I wanted to say a million things—about pads and medicine, about how periods work, about how this made no sense. But the words got stuck. My hands fidgeted with my dupatta, eyes glued to the floor, lip bitten raw.

He was sure it was my fault—no matter what I said, he'd pile on more accusations. In that moment, I realised he’d never see my side. Maybe he never tried. Why waste my breath?

I turned my face to the window, watching a mynah hop across the playground, wishing I could just disappear like that.

Ananya came back from her IV in the afternoon. She looked a little pale, but still graceful. Some girls just have that knack, na?

Maybe she was upset, because Rohan’s attitude toward me grew colder. When he handed out papers, he dumped them all on my desk at once. Didn’t meet my eyes. The papers slid off with a thud, fluttering to the ground.

This time, I didn't catch them. I let the papers scatter. Let them fall, I thought. Why should I always pick up after everyone?

He frowned. His brow furrowed, as if he couldn’t believe I’d dare to defy him.

Expressionless, I said, "Pick them up."

My voice surprised even me—steady, cold, like Amma when she’s fed up with Papa. "What?" He stared, as if he hadn’t heard right. Even Ananya glanced over, eyebrows raised.

"I said, you threw them—you pick them up."

For once, I refused to be the background character. If I was going to be the villain in their story, so be it.

My assertiveness stunned Rohan. He paused, then squatted at my feet to gather the papers, stacking them back on my desk. His hands trembled slightly. I caught a few snickers from behind, but kept my face blank.

All afternoon, I didn't say a word to him. I doodled in my notebook, lost in thought, not caring if he noticed.

Naturally, we didn't talk at dinner either. The mess hall was noisy—steel plates clanging, tumblers banging. I ate quietly, pushing aloo curry around my plate. Rohan sat with his group, not sparing me a glance.

After dinner, during the long break, I went to take out the trash as usual. Every evening, I’d grab the classroom dustbin—metal, dented, always half-full of wrappers and old worksheets—and trudge to the ground-floor trash room. My sneakers squeaked, echoing off the walls.

No dustbin in the classroom; you had to go to the trash room. The corridor smelled faintly of cleaning fluid and old paint. Sometimes, I’d see girls sneaking snacks, hiding from teachers.

I used to take Rohan's trash too, pretending it was just on my way. If he’d left a Tropicana bottle or crumpled foil, I’d pick it up, imagining he’d notice. He never did.

Eventually, everyone started giving me their trash. Even juniors started handing me empty packets. I smiled politely, but inside, I felt like a glorified bai.

But this time, I didn't want to bother with anyone. My back hurt, my head hurt, and my heart was tired.

"Thanks, Sneha! I love hardworking, capable girls the most!" Ananya smiled, hanging a big bag of trash on my hand. Her voice sugary sweet. Some girls giggled, others rolled their eyes.

But I coldly refused, "I'm not your maid!"

The words slipped out before I could stop them. The room went silent, like someone dropped a plate at a wedding.

Ananya was stunned, her eyes reddening with grievance. She looked genuinely shocked, lower lip trembling. For once, she didn’t have a comeback.

A group of classmates whispered behind my back—“So much attitude,” “All because of that boy,” “Yeh apne aap ko kya samajhti hai?”

"What's wrong with her today?" a girl in braids nudged her friend. “Maybe failed another math test.”

"Nothing's wrong, she's just jealous!" someone giggled. The word hung in the air—heavy and ugly.

"Final year is precious—she could just take it since she's passing by. We have papers to do."

I wanted to shout my time was precious too, but bit my tongue.

Finally, Rohan stood up and chased after me out of the classroom. His footsteps echoed behind me, fast and determined. He called my name, but I pretended not to hear, never looking back. My fists clenched around the trash bag. I kept walking, chin up, refusing to let him see my face.

After circling the playground and returning to the classroom, I found a pink pack of sanitary pads on my desk. It sat there, glaringly bright against my faded textbooks.

Rohan looked at me seriously, blocking the desk with his body. "Listen, about this morning—"

"About this morning... I'm sorry."

For a moment, I thought maybe he really meant it. The apology sounded awkward, but sincere.

So, did he finally understand?

Maybe he realised not everything was my fault. Maybe he’d grown up, even just a little. Did he buy this just to apologise?

I looked at the pack—some expensive brand, not the usual chemist stuff. My soft heart lasted only a second, shattered by his next words:

He looked away, shuffling his feet. "Ananya really values your friendship. Don’t let my mistake affect her. When she comes back, apologise and comfort her. You shouldn’t have been mean to her!"

Only then did I notice, in the desk Rohan was blocking, a huge bag of sanitary pads—he'd bought every brand and type for Ananya to choose from, after sneaking out of school! My throat tightened. He’d gone all out, just for her. My pack was an afterthought, like prasad at the end of a long line.

To keep me from "bullying" Ananya, he tossed me a pack to brush me off—just to get rid of an unimportant classmate.

That’s when it hit me: I was only ever the shadow behind their story.