Chapter 2: Olympiad Stakes & Tiffin Wars

After physics class, I gathered my courage and walked up to the teacher’s desk. The staffroom was thick with chalk dust, old agarbatti, and the distant clang of a bell. I glanced at the row of teachers, suddenly recalling the times I’d been ignored in that very spot. Swallowing my nerves, I spoke up: “Ma’am, you said there are guaranteed spots for the physics Olympiad? I’ve been working on competition problems—can I try?”

My heart thudded, but my face stayed calm. A few teachers glanced up, eyebrows raised. The physics teacher smiled in surprise. “Ananya, finally! With your ability, you still have time to prepare.”

[Supporting girl Olympiad mein bhi ghus rahi hai? Meera ka kya?]

[Relax, supporting girl shayad qualify bhi na kare. Meera bhi Olympiad join karegi!]

I almost burst out laughing at the WhatsApp drama.

That afternoon, the physics teacher gave me one-on-one coaching in a corner of the staffroom, sunlight slanting across stacks of old question banks and half-empty chai cups. The AC hummed, but crows cawed outside. “Beta, keep at it. No one can stop you.”

Just as I finished a practice set, Priya walked in, her hands twisting her dupatta, blinking rapidly as she approached the teacher. “Ma’am, I want to try the Olympiad too. Can I?” Her voice was barely a whisper. The peon paused mid-mop, watching.

“Priya, your physics grades have never been outstanding. Even if you compete, you might not get results. Better to focus on boards and revision.”

Priya’s hand trembled as she clutched her steel dabba, jaw clenched so tight her cheek twitched. She blinked fast, hiding the shimmer of tears. A classmate quietly nudged her shoulder—silent support in the noisy staffroom.

“Ma’am, my physics isn’t the best, but it’s not bad. I just want the experience. Even if I don’t do well, I’ll accept it.”

[Meera is so cool.]

[Meera is my inspiration. She’s really hardworking.]

Hardworking for what? For the Olympiad seat…or to swap my results?

After Priya got the teacher’s nod, she went all out—ten minutes between classes became revision time. Her phone lay ignored, water bottle half-empty, lunch untouched till last bell. In Indian school life, that kind of focus is sacred; we all just tried to stay out of her way.

She even asked to sit with me after school. “Ananya, can I be your desk mate for a bit? Let’s study together?”

I patted the empty seat. “Of course. Let’s study.”

She said it was to study, but her eyes darted to my notebook every few minutes, as if searching for secrets. It felt like a Diwali cracker—tense, ready to burst. I kept my face calm, but inside, I was bracing for the blast.

Finally, on the day of the mock Olympiad, when I scored a perfect hundred, I saw her resolve harden.