Chapter 5: Diary Ashes

This wasn't even Rohan’s route home—he must have followed me the whole way. My chest tightened. Did he come just to protect Ananya? Not me, never me.

No matter what happened, no matter what his favourite did wrong, he would always take her side. I was invisible again. Loyalty, it seems, is only for those who already have everything.

This was the person I'd had a crush on for three years—a hopeless case. The ache in my chest settled into something hard and cold. Maybe it was better this way.

In the end, I was still punished. My explanation was dismissed as excuses. Ma’am didn’t even look at me as she wrote my name in the punishment register. My throat burned with unshed tears. Amma’s warnings about ‘good company’ rang in my ears. I remembered her telling me, “Beta, always keep your head down, stay away from trouble.”

Who told me to be ranked 51st, while Ananya was 7th? Merit mattered, but reputation mattered more. Always.

Teachers always subconsciously favour top students. No matter what they say about fairness, it’s always the toppers who get the benefit of the doubt.

Our class teacher was also the math teacher. Mrs. Rao, strict and always in starched cotton sarees, barely looked at me. She had her favourites, and I was not one of them.

Originally, the punishment wasn't supposed to be public, but she announced it in front of everyone, making me stand outside for a whole period as a warning to the class. My face burned as I stood at the door, the corridor buzzing with students peeking in, whispering. I heard a group of juniors giggle, and caught my own reflection in the glass—small, defeated, shrinking further every second.

"Some girls, let me give you some advice: have some shame. Not only are you weak in studies, but you pick up all sorts of bad habits. Don't embarrass our top section as an outsider."

She didn’t even use my name, as if I was just another cautionary tale. A few classmates tittered behind their notebooks.

Ananya turned a page of her Five-Year Board Papers workbook with a faint smile, her eyes full of pride. I caught her eye for a moment—she looked almost triumphant, like a queen surveying her subjects.

And Rohan couldn't even look me in the eye. He stared at his desk, jaw clenched. Guilt, or just discomfort? Who knows.

I calmly walked out of the classroom, stood in the corridor, and tore up my diary page by page—a diary filled with secret love. I took out my battered notebook, pages soft from handling. One by one, I ripped out the entries—each a small death.

The first entry was from the summer before Class 9, when a tall, thin boy explained physics to me. His clear voice made my heart race. He’d drawn a diagram on the back of a bus ticket, eyes bright with excitement. I’d kept that ticket for months, hidden in my textbook.

From then on, every diary page was about him—his name, his marks, the little cake I secretly gave him, how he never rejected my feelings. Even if he never noticed, I chronicled every moment—like a shadow writing her own history.

Every page counted down the days to adulthood, planning for the day I'd confess. My dreams were simple—get into the same college, walk together under the gulmohar trees, hear him say my name the way I’d always imagined.

But in my final year, all my hopes and affection came to an abrupt end. It was as if the world had turned a page, and my chapter was finished. No more pining, no more hoping.

Rohan wasn't worth another drop of ink from me. For the first time, I felt free. Empty, yes, but also strangely light.

The English teacher passed by with chai in a steel tumbler, stopped when she saw me, took the free little keychain, and handed me the chai. She always wore bright salwar-kameezes and gold jhumkas. Her voice was soft, but her eyes missed nothing. “Take, beta. Drink this. You look like you could use it.”

"Sneha, don't tear up your books just because you were punished! Is Mrs. Rao nagging you again? That mouth of hers is just asking for it!" She chuckled, shaking her head. The keychain she took from me dangled—a plastic Taj Mahal, bought from the school fair.

"You got into the top section on your own merit—the school's cutoff score included you. Her dislike means nothing! Besides, I see you always get the math problems right. You're not as fast as them, but you're more careful and thorough. You're not bad at all."

Her words felt like cool water on a burn. I managed a small smile, suddenly remembering all the times she’d stood up for the weaker students—once, she’d let me stay after school to finish my homework when the other teachers wanted to send me home. Another time, she’d defended me when a senior tried to bully me in the corridor. With her, I always felt like I belonged somewhere, even if it wasn’t in Rohan’s world.

"Life is your own—don't revolve around some boy, and don't care about those strangers! Good luck on the mock exam!" She patted my shoulder, the steel tumbler warm in my hands. A few curious students peeped around the corner, but I didn’t care.

I smiled in relief, drank the chai in one go, and stood outside listening to the math class. The chai was sweet, a little strong—just the way Amma made it at home. I let the teacher’s voice wash over me, not really listening, but not hurting anymore, either.

After class, I threw away the trash and went back to my seat. Rohan actually turned around and reached out to me. He stretched, hand out, as if nothing had happened. "Give me your papers."

His voice was softer now, almost hesitant. "Do you know the key points from last period?" He picked up my crumpled notes, smoothing them out as if nothing was wrong. As he spoke, he took my trash bag and put it in his own little dustbin. It was a small gesture, but I saw it. For a second, I almost forgave him. Almost.

"Sit down, I'll explain it to you." He made space for me, gesturing to the chair beside him. For a moment, I saw the boy I’d once liked.

I looked down at him and coldly said, "Do I need you?" My voice was flat. The words hung between us, heavy and sharp.

Rohan froze. His mouth opened, then closed. The others watched, waiting for drama. After a moment, he lowered his voice. "Last night I—" He sounded almost apologetic, but I didn’t care to hear the rest.

I slammed my Five-Year Board Papers workbook on the desk and turned away. The thud echoed in the silent classroom. Let them all see—I was done being a pushover.

At lunch, the class teacher moved my seat to the farthest corner of the classroom. She did it with a smile, as if doing me a favour. “A change of scenery, Sneha,” she said, but everyone knew the real reason.

The PT rep who switched seats with me was delighted to find a big box of Dairy Milk chocolates and a full set of math notes at the new desk—all secretly prepared by Rohan. He whooped with joy, waving the chocolate. “Oye, Rohan! Tu toh king hai, bhai!” He hugged Rohan, thanking his good buddy.

Rohan smiled weakly, eyes fixed on me. I looked away, unwilling to give him the satisfaction.

Rohan's eyes dimmed. He clenched his fists but said nothing. His knuckles turned white, but he didn’t argue. Maybe he finally understood what it felt like to be left out.

All afternoon, he kept glancing back at the corner countless times. His gaze burned into the back of my head. I focused on my textbook, determined not to let him back in. And I didn't spare him a single extra look.

It was over now. My story had moved on, and so had I. Somewhere, a WhatsApp group pinged with old photos. But for once, I didn’t rush to see if Rohan had tagged me.