Chapter 2: Shattered Trust

Arjun’s words hit me like a tight slap—sharp, raw, my cheeks burning even in the humid air. I stood there, invisible, as if the old ceiling fan above had short-circuited my thoughts. The corridor buzzed with the sounds of honking rickshaws and children’s cricket outside, but inside, I was numb, chilled to the bone.

The classroom chatter continued, punctuated by scraping wooden benches and the occasional shout. I heard someone say:

"Only Arjun bhaiya can pull off this stunt, yaar. Even the college queen is just warm-up for him!"

"Isn’t she like those forgotten cousins in the big shaadi photos, always lurking in the background?"

Arjun let out a half-hearted laugh, flicking his pen:

"Don’t talk bakwaas, yaar. She didn’t lose out, okay!"

Another voice, full of that teasing Malad accent, piped up:

"Yeah, college queen toh is a bit patli, yaar. Compared to the new campus beauty, her figure…"

Annoyed, Arjun chucked a book at him:

"Arrey, stop it na. It was just, you know, mood sahi tha. And I saw she was hesitating, but she wanted it too…"

The boys exchanged those knowing looks, all fake wisdom and bravado:

"Didn’t think the college queen would be so demure!"

"Arrey, our Arjun bhaiya’s charm is next level. Prize is in front of you, why will you not take it?"

"Sneha’s been behind Arjun since school days only. Now finally she got her wish—maybe she pounced first, who knows!"

Their laughter echoed down the corridor, mingling with the distant sounds of juniors chasing their tiffin boxes. My fists clenched so tight my knuckles turned white, nails digging into my palms. I prayed no one noticed my shaking knees as I stood frozen at the classroom door.

A teacher’s footsteps echoed at the far end, snapping me from my daze. Before anyone could catch the tears burning my eyes, I ran, my dupatta flying behind me like a flag of surrender.

I stumbled into the bathroom, locked myself in a stall, and slid down the door to crouch on the cold tiles, struggling to breathe. The harsh smell of Dettol and cheap rose soap filled the air, stinging my nose as much as my pride.

Tears—hot, helpless—spilled down my cheeks, soaking my kurta as I buried my face in my hands. Heartbreak and humiliation crashed together, Arjun’s words looping in my mind, shattering what little confidence I’d built over the years.

If I hadn’t heard it myself, I’d never have believed that the boy who whispered sweet nothings last night could be so cold today. The same boy whose fingers trembled against my skin had just reduced everything to a practice round.

So, it’s possible—what our old school didi warned us about—to be so close, so intimate, and still have nothing real behind it. Only a moment’s heat, then nothing left.

The happy ending I’d woven in my head was just a joke for chai-time gossip among others.

The more I tried to stop crying, the more my chest ached. Still, I muffled my sobs—no one could know. My whole body trembled, like a leaf in a monsoon storm.

After what felt like forever, my phone vibrated in my pocket, startling me back to reality.

It was Arjun.

[Auto le lena, haan? I’m going out with the guys.]

I stared at the message, lips pressed tight, refusing to reply. The scent of biryani oil from the canteen drifted in, mocking my emptiness.

Another message pinged:

[Don’t forget to buy the morning-after pill. I don’t have time today. Make sure you take it, ok?]

His words were so casual—like reminding me to pick up eggs on the way home. I just stared at my phone, mind numb. I remembered last night: Arjun’s hands in my hair, the soft click of the tube light, his whispered, “Wasn’t prepared for your first time. I’ll get you medicine in the morning, okay?”

He’d sounded so responsible, so caring. I thought I was special. But now…

Everything clicked into place, sharp and ugly. I dug my nails into my palm till it hurt, forcing the tears to stop. Before I ordered the pill online, I hesitated, checking if my name would appear on the receipt, shame and anxiety crawling up my spine. Only when I was sure did I press ‘order.’

When the bell rang, I waited ages before peeping out and snatching the packet from outside my door.

I swallowed the pill, my throat dry as dust. As I sat numbly on the carpet, knees drawn to my chest, a WhatsApp ping sounded from my family group. For a moment, the cheerful message—Papa forwarding a temple video, Maasi asking about dinner—reminded me of the normal life I’d just cut myself off from.

I’d lived next door to Arjun’s house for ten years, always his shadow. Never once did I imagine a world where he wasn’t at the centre of mine.

But from now on, it was just me. Just Sneha. Alone.

Outside, the city lights flickered on, one by one, then faded, leaving only the distant clang of a temple bell. I don’t know how long I sat like that until Mitali’s video call flashed on my phone, her face full of concern.

"Abe Sneha, why didn’t you come to the class party with Arjun?"

"That Priya from arts section is here, and since you’re missing, she’s been all over Arjun, shameless types, yaar!"

Mitali turned the camera, and for a second, I almost dropped the phone. I wiped my eyes quickly, trying to force a smile for the camera, but Mitali saw through it at once, her expression softening with worry.