Chapter 6: Games and Betrayal

The two buildings next to the school were donated by the Kapoor family. No one dared mess with him on campus.

Everyone knew the Kapoors were old money—the kind that built schools and temples, not just flashy malls. Kabir’s car would wait outside, the driver reading the morning Times of India, while the rest of us hurried to catch the rickshaw home.

When I asked to change seats, the class teacher quickly agreed, and the school even gave me a scholarship.

After school, as I packed my books, a wet kiss landed on my neck.

I gasped, looking around, but no one was there to see. Kabir’s mischief knew no bounds—he only ever touched me when the classroom was empty, as if daring me to scold him.

"Toppers don’t need to study to get good marks, right? Stay with me a little longer tonight, okay?"

His spoiled tone held a faint mockery.

He bit my finger as I tried to stop him from going further. His lips were soft and full, his gaze locked on my lips.

"There are cameras in the classroom."

I looked at Kabir, who was temptation incarnate, and stopped him.

"Can we at your place then?" Kabir leaned closer.

I smiled, "Depends on your performance."

We’d been secretly dating for a month, and the board exams were just another month away.

We spent stolen evenings watching old Shah Rukh Khan movies, pretending we were just classmates when anyone knocked. Sometimes, the power would cut, and we’d sit in darkness, listening to the sounds of the city—the distant clanging of a temple bell, the shouts of kids playing gully cricket.

I managed both love and grades, and even though Kabir kept making off with my homework and books for all sorts of reasons, I still held onto first place.

Kabir didn’t give up until my grades dropped. Knowing I had no one at home, he brazenly followed me back.

He’d show up at my door, hair damp from the shower, holding a box of sweets or sometimes just his trademark smirk. The neighbours would whisper, but I never cared.

Kabir hated studying, but as soon as we got home, I made him do practice problems.

He looked at the formulas, full of reluctance. "Is there a reward if I get this right?"

I nodded.

He vented by working through the problems, and after getting the answers right, he wrapped an arm around my shoulder. "Done. Tonight’s reward."

High school boys are always full of energy.

I let myself enjoy it for a while.

But Kabir looked into my clear eyes, annoyed. "Meera."

"You got this question wrong."

I marked the mistakes on the last page.

Kabir wore his laziness openly. He thought his family would always have his back, so why work hard?

He started sulking, grabbing my hands a bit roughly. "Study, study. Meera, all you care about is studying. You don’t like me at all."

But I didn’t give him any extra attention.

Why should I coax a man throwing a tantrum?

Since he came to seduce me for Priya, he should be the one giving me emotional value.

Besides, his face was truly beautiful.

I felt no cold war at all—let him skip breakfast, use his body as leverage, try to force me to care about him.

I touched his arm. His lovely eyes were full of aggrieved anger, one hand clutching his stomach as he turned away.

But he didn’t realise—only those who fall first get angry at being ignored.

From start to finish, I was just a calm bystander, watching him lose his temper.

An anonymous sender sent me a new video.

The video was full of familiar faces—the same little group Priya had gathered to try to ruin me.

"As expected of Rohan—just showed up and Meera’s already head over heels."

"Rohan, what did you do to make Meera ask the teacher herself to switch bench partners?"

I heard Kabir’s voice clearly, tinged with hidden pride: "Thought she’d be hard to get, but she came the moment I called."

"Kabir, my cousin’s liked you for years. Don’t let Priya down. When are you breaking up?"

Kabir raised his eyebrows: "After I sleep with her. She’s way prettier than those loud girls outside."

A glass shattered in the video.

It was Arjun knocking over his drink.

Priya’s spoiled voice came through: "You’re not falling for her, are you? It’s been so long and her grades haven’t dropped. I don’t think she cares about you at all."

The party music was too loud, but Kabir’s light words were clear: "How could I love a poor orphan with no parents? Is she even worthy? The cancer report’s ready—a month before the exam, just watch me go all out."

The anonymous sender asked me: [It’s already like this—do you still like Kabir?]

The question hung in the air, heavier than the humidity before a Mumbai monsoon downpour. My phone buzzed again, but I didn’t look at it. Outside, the street vendor was calling out for customers, and the aroma of frying samosas wafted up to my window. I stared at my reflection in the glass, at my calm, unflinching eyes, and let the silence swallow me whole. My phone buzzed again. This time, the message wasn’t from the group. It was from Priya: “Let’s talk. Alone.”