Chapter 1: The Taste of Hunger and Heartbreak

The smell of frying onions from the school kitchen made my stomach growl, but I still wrapped half my paratha in tissue and tucked it in my bag. Dadi’s voice echoed in my head: 'Priya, promise you’ll eat every bite.' But the thought of looking thinner for Arjun made my resolve waver every morning. Even the ghee on my toast felt like a guilty luxury, but my mind was always full of Arjun’s smile, the way the girls would giggle behind their hands whenever he walked by. My heart would do somersaults, but my stomach? Always rumbling.

That day in PT class, I nearly fainted from hunger. The sun beat down on the dusty field, and my school shirt stuck to my back with sweat. I tried to focus on the drills, but my vision swam, the distant shrill of the PT sir’s whistle echoing in my ears. I reached out blindly, desperate not to fall in front of everyone, a flash of Dadi’s worried face in my mind and the shame of being seen as weak. My legs wobbled, and just as the world started to go dark, a warm hand caught my wrist.

It was Arjun. He grabbed my hand before I could pull away, his grip gentle but insistent. He led me, ignoring the curious looks, straight to the canteen. The chaos faded as the smells of samosas and chai hit me, making my mouth water. Arjun glared at the canteen aunty until she plonked a plate of aloo tikki and a glass of nimbu paani in front of me. His grip on my hand said, 'Don’t argue.'

Trying to keep his anger in check, Arjun burst out, 'Kya yaar, Priya, kitni dieting karegi? Tu gir jayegi ek din.' He shook his head, then leaned closer: 'Aage se koi bhi kuch bole na, main dekh lunga. Samjhi?'

His voice trembled with frustration. For a second, I thought he actually cared. My cheeks burned, and I looked away, tracing circles on the canteen table. I felt both embarrassed and oddly protected.

But that very day, maybe because of the way he held my hand, or the rush of sugar after starving, I blurted it out just as he sipped his Thums Up. 'I like you.'

He looked me up and down, a half-smile on his lips, then said, 'Arrey, Moti, don’t you think you’re disgusting?'

The words stung like a slap. Around us, someone dropped a steel tumbler, kids yelled for vada pavs, but all I could hear was my own thudding heartbeat and the echo of his words.