Chapter 4: Painting Lessons and Rivalries

My boring life suddenly became much more interesting.

Suddenly, a lot of people wanted to be friends with me—all of them rich or well-connected.

It was like a scene from those campus rom-coms—the sort my bench partner loved to binge-watch. Out of nowhere, my desk would be surrounded by boys offering to carry my books or girls asking me to join their group for the annual fest. The air buzzed with new gossip: "Who will Meera choose?"

"Meera, that new restaurant in Bandra is so good. Let me take you."

Arjun was from Section B. He was 6 feet tall and a master flirt.

He was Priya’s cousin and one of her cronies. Good-looking, good family, and a notorious playboy.

He made his pursuit of me very public.

Every day, he’d show up with a new plan—tickets to some concert, invitations to farmhouse parties, offers to drive me home in his father’s Honda City. Once he even sent me a bouquet of lilies, right in front of the whole class. The teachers raised their eyebrows, but the girls swooned. For Arjun, it was all part of the show.

Because he was the only boy I occasionally responded to, rumours started that we were dating.

The class teacher called us to the office, with Section B’s teacher present too.

The staff room smelled of strong filter coffee and the faint whiff of coconut oil from the peon’s hair. Arjun sauntered in, acting as if he owned the place. I sat quietly, pretending to be shy.

Arjun’s teacher was strict. He glared at Arjun: "You should be focusing on your studies. If your grades are bad, don’t drag others down. I’ve already called your parents. You’ll write a 1,000-word apology tomorrow."

"And I spoke with your parents yesterday. They don’t want you to pursue fine arts. Don’t think art is an easy way out. Your art teacher told me you’re too undisciplined—not suitable for the exams."

Arjun’s fists clenched tightly.

His jaw worked, but he didn’t argue. His pride was wounded in front of everyone, and his eyes glinted with suppressed anger. You could see the tension in the way he gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white.

His teacher kept scolding him, rapid-fire.

It was noisy.

Even the peon outside the office paused to listen, pretending to adjust the clock while actually eavesdropping. The air was thick with reprimands, and for a moment, even Arjun’s usual charm couldn’t save him.

When his teacher again warned him not to affect my studies,

I cut in, expressionless: "Ma’am, he won’t affect me at all. I’ll still be number one."

My voice was calm, almost cold. The teachers exchanged glances. Section B’s teacher looked scandalized, but my class teacher stifled a smile, pride twinkling in her eyes. You could tell she was rooting for me.

Section B’s teacher choked, about to lose her temper, but my own teacher quickly intervened, protecting me.

"Alright, alright, you both can go."

The tension broke. Arjun flashed me a grateful grin as we stepped out, but I ignored him, heading straight to the water cooler to wash the bitter taste from my mouth.

---

After that, Arjun chased after me even harder—always offering branded bags, money, and coming up with all sorts of boring topics.

If he were chasing my mother, it might have worked.

Unfortunately, my mother had seen all the tricks before; I was long bored of them.

I looked at Arjun with disinterest, brushing him off: "Your grades are too bad."

I didn’t even bother with excuses. I’d heard all these lines before, at every wedding and college fest my mother dragged me to. For me, the shine had long worn off.

Arjun looked aggrieved: "Meera, not everyone finds studying as easy as you."

"But you have talent in painting."

His expression changed, the laziness vanishing as he sat up straight: "You really think I have talent? The teacher says I just doodle, not up to standard."

"Mm."

"Don’t you think it’s just laziness?" he pressed.

Then he started complaining, saying his family wouldn’t let him paint and wanted to send him abroad.

His voice dropped, becoming softer, more vulnerable. "Papa keeps saying engineering is the only respectable career. Art is for dreamers, he says. They want me to go to America, study computer science or something. I don’t want that life, Meera."

I cut him off: "Alright, I’m heading home."

If he were a true playboy, he’d know not to show his weaknesses in front of a woman who hasn’t fallen for him yet. She’ll use it against him.

Arjun, for all his bravado, was still just a boy craving validation. I could see through him. I wasn’t cruel, but I wasn’t going to coddle him either.

"Meera, want me to teach you to paint?"

Arjun’s eyes were his best feature—deep, affectionate, like monsoon clouds.

I liked beautiful things. Looking at him, I smiled: "Your eyes are beautiful. Teach me to draw your eyes."

His ears turned red, and his hand holding the brush trembled. I wiped my hands nervously on my skirt for the first time, glancing down as Arjun’s brush left a faint streak of blue across my wrist—a gentle, accidental touch that lingered.

No matter how much of a flirt he was, he was only eighteen—sometimes, he showed real innocence.

I glanced at his ears and chuckled softly.

This was the guy who once said he’d have me crawl and beg for forgiveness?

Not much, really—

I compared his drawing to my own ugly attempt and sighed: "I guess I have no talent for painting."

Arjun laughed: "Meera, you’re really cute."

I put down the brush: "The painting is dirty. I don’t like dirty things. Same goes for men."

Arjun’s face changed. He looked into my eyes.

He searched my face for something—affection, maybe, or approval. But I gave him nothing. My heart was not so easily won.

I glanced at the new painting he’d done.

The eyes in the painting were mine.

Those eyes were calm and detached, with no hint of love or emotion.

He forced a smile and left quickly.

I felt a malicious gaze.

Priya was staring at the brush on the ground.

Arjun cherished his brushes, but today he’d left one behind.

I picked it up and tossed it in the dustbin.

Maybe someone new would show up next.

Hopefully, they’d be more interesting.