Chapter 1: The Barrage and the Binding

For ten years, I've always been the runner-up—never the star. Now, here I am, sitting on my creaky hostel bed, heart thumping, as a flood of WhatsApp-style forwards swirl in my mind:

[Beta, Ananya toh setting kar legi Harvard mein, but supporting character ka kya? Full beizzati! 🤦‍♀️]

[Arre, system ki full setting hai! Heroine is chilling at college fest, even sleeping through board exams, wah!]

[Side character toh kuch bhi kar le, end mein toh zero hi swap karegi! Heroine ka papa bas ek building donate karega Harvard mein, ultimate satisfaction! 😏]

Vicious supporting character.

Me?

But——

Who said I want to exchange the topper’s board exam marks?

What I want to exchange is something even more precious to her:

---

[Congratulations, host, for binding the exchange system. You have one—and only one—chance to make an exchange:]

I ask, "Can I exchange anything? Including the board exam marks?"

[Bilkul! Please specify your exchange target:]

Ananya.

The moment I finish, Ananya, not far away, clenches her fists. The look she throws is pure Delhi: contempt and mockery, all rolled into one.

Looks like—

Just like the WhatsApp group says, she can hear my conversation with the system.

Ananya's always been the class queen, first in every list, while I'm forever the punchline at number two.

She lives in a world of privilege. My mother? She scrubs their floors for a living.

Maa is never gentle:

“Miss Ananya is born to shine, beta. Tu kya hai? Tumse hoga compete? Tumhari aukaat kya hai?”

When I was bullied in the school bathroom by Ananya’s gang, Maa just waved it away:

“Miss Ananya ko naraaz kiya hoga, tabhi toh. Apni kismat hi kharab hai, kya complain karti rehti hai?”

I used to think Maa only wanted to keep her job at the Sharma house, so she backed whatever Ananya did.

Sometimes, from our cramped servant’s quarters, I’d hear the pressure cooker whistle, laughter echoing from their marble dining table, while I picked at dal-chawal, my tiffin just leftover rotis in old newspaper.

Until the WhatsApp barrage hit me with the truth:

[Supporting character toh asli me unlucky hai—she’s the real rich daughter, swapped at birth! Her 'maid mother' is Ananya’s actual maa... 🤯]

[Phir bhi, serves her right! Why did she try to steal Ananya’s marks? Ananya set her up, scored zero, pura plan fail!]

[After exams, truth nikalta hai, but real parents still cold. End mein—no love, all alone, depression...]

Isolated. Depressed. Suicide.

A bitter laugh escaped me—the kind that tastes of old tears and the sharp ache in your chest when you’ve got nothing left.

But that ending? Not happening.

Because what I want to exchange isn’t Ananya’s board exam marks at all—

It’s something even more precious to her.