Chapter 2: Backstage Shadows

When Arjun returned backstage, he looked distracted.

He pushed through the crowd of staff and fellow players, his eyes darting everywhere except at me. For a moment, our eyes almost met, but he quickly avoided my gaze, pretending to check WhatsApp and fiddling with the locket around his neck. The smell of sweat, cologne, and adrenaline hung in the air, mixed with the leftover scent of celebratory samosas from the green room.

The girl who had just flung herself into his arms—I knew who she was.

It was Priya, the recently popular streamer. Her gameplay was always flawless and dazzling, with the whole chat spamming fire emojis and 'OP'.

Her face was everywhere these days: phone screens, Instagram reels, YouTube shorts. Her laugh was infectious, her Hindi one-liners even more so. Fans adored her—boys and girls both, some probably dreaming of her in secret, some openly.

Last week after training, Arjun had been watching her stream while eating dinner.

"What are you watching?" I had asked.

Arjun smiled faintly. "A streamer. She plays really well."

He didn’t look at me fully, just half a smile, as if embarrassed by his own excitement. The glow from the phone made his skin look softer, almost boyish again.

I tried to sound casual, but there was an edge. I knew that look—part admiration, part infatuation. It made my stomach twist.

On the screen, a girl in a bunny-ear hairband and a pastel kurti looked down at her controls, focused and quiet. Occasionally, she’d blurt out a few curses in Hindi, which only made her seem more real.

She reminded me of the girls you see in Mumbai local trains—chatty, sharp, unafraid to speak their mind. Every time she swore, the chat would explode with laughter and heart emojis. She was relatable, like the cousin who always wins at carrom.

Even Arjun couldn’t hide his smile.

I watched him, and a pang of something sharp ran through me. He’d always been quick to hide his feelings, but right now his lips curled up, betraying him. The old excitement—the one I hadn’t seen in a long time—was there for someone else.

Seeing him like that, my gaze dropped to the now-cold poha, and I let out a jealous snort.

The poha sat untouched, flecks of sev going soggy. I poked at it, pretending not to care, but my mind was racing: Was this how it ends? The same Arjun who once told me, "You’re the reason I believe I can win," was now looking at someone else with that same fire. Back then, his belief in me had been everything—now I was just watching him drift away, and I couldn’t decide if it hurt more or made me furious.

He heard me, sighed, put his phone down, and started eating properly.

He still cared about my feelings—at least, a little.

He gave me a sheepish look, the way he did after missing curfew back in college. It was that small, guilty smile. At least he noticed.

But now, surrounded by the tension backstage, he acted as if he didn’t notice anything at all.

He was all business, speaking only when necessary. His phone buzzed a couple of times, but he ignored it—or maybe he was just pretending for my sake.

The barrage floated by again:

[What’s the doosri ladki pretending for? She thinks Arjun will keep indulging her like before?]

[Come on, girl, he’s already the league’s champion jungler. He can play anywhere—why stay in your tiny DFC club? What a joke.]

I bit my lip. Some of these comments sounded like my mother’s taunts about career choices—cruel, but not entirely untrue. The world moved on fast, and I had to move faster.