Chapter 3: Lessons in Loneliness

Since I was little, I'd been the target of countless subtle jokes about my body. My cousins would poke my stomach at family functions, uncles would joke, 'Bas, Priya, don’t eat all the laddoos, leave some for others!' Aunties would shake their heads and whisper, 'Such a pretty face, but so much weight, poor girl.'

I became more and more withdrawn. I stopped running out to play gilli-danda after school, sitting by the window, scribbling in my diary. I became an expert in hiding, in shrinking, in making myself invisible.

Until Arjun became my bench partner. He never looked at me with judgement. When others mocked me, he’d snap, 'Oye, at least Priya gets full marks in Maths. Tum logon ko toh do do tuition lagte hain!' Sometimes he’d share his chips with me, and I’d feel like maybe, just maybe, I belonged.

During that closed-off but still love-hungry time of girlhood, Arjun was my greatest source of happiness. I would find excuses to stay back after class, hoping he'd walk with me to the gate. When he smiled at me, I would carry that smile in my heart for days, like a secret treasure.

But today, it was as if he poured a bucket of ice water over me and woke me up. The feeling was like biting into a gulab jamun and finding it dry inside—unexpected, shocking, and bitter. I stared at my bitten nails and realised my fantasy had ended.

So, it turned out, I was never the exception. Just another joke for everyone to laugh at, another moti with big dreams.

Before the bell rang, Arjun rubbed his brow and left the classroom. He left behind his scattered books and the ghost of his laughter. The empty desk felt colder than the rest of the classroom.

The class prefect dragged a chair over, sat beside me, and tried to comfort me. She was always the voice of reason, her dupatta neatly pinned, hair in a tight braid. She tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear, then adjusted her own dupatta before speaking.

'Don't be upset, Priya. Arjun probably didn’t mean what he said.' She looked at me with big, earnest eyes. 'And you can’t really blame him, right? You know you…'

Her voice trailed off. The words hung in the air like monsoon clouds. 'Isn’t this just biting the hand that feeds you? He’s always so nice to you. Even if you like him, you shouldn’t have confessed… Now you’ve really disgusted him…'

Her tone was soft, as if gently scolding a child for spilling milk. To my horror, I realised I agreed with her. I hated myself for it, but her words echoed my own secret thoughts. Maybe I really did deserve this. I could only nod and whisper, 'I didn’t know my place.' My voice was lost in the rustling of notebooks and the distant scooter outside.

'When Arjun comes back, I’ll apologise.'

The class prefect patted my head. 'Yes, just apologise and it’ll be over.' She smiled, as if she’d solved everything. 'Actually, you’re quite cute—fair and chubby, like a rasgulla.'

She laughed softly, but her words stuck like an unwanted sticky toffee. Even sweets have a shelf life, I thought, forcing a faint smile. The class sounds returned—chairs scraping, jokes, the bell for next period. Life went on, but I stayed stuck in that moment.