Chapter 6: Rain, Pain, and Resilience

After that, not only the study prefect, but all the boys in class avoided me. Their conversations stopped when I passed. Even the friendlier ones stopped sharing their jokes or notes. The girls stuck together, whispering and giggling, their glances sharp as needles. I was an outsider, no longer invited to birthday parties or chai breaks at tuition.

Everyone likes cheerful, sunny people. But I'm gloomy by nature. Like a steamed idli thrown into the cooker before fermenting—lumpy and pale, no one fighting over me at breakfast.

Even so, I never thought about losing weight again. The idea of starving for acceptance now made me tired. My lunchbox was always full; I finished every last bite, ignoring the looks I got.

The only time I tried was because my crush on Arjun was stronger than the lure of good food. But now, I didn't like him anymore.

After holding back tears all day, I thought a Haldiram’s gulab jamun might help. But it didn’t. The syrup clung to my lips, but my chest felt empty. Some humiliations can’t be fixed by anything—not even the softest, most syrupy mithai.

On Friday, during PT, we finally got free time. Kids sprawled on the field, some playing catch, others gossiping in the shade. Then the sky darkened. The monsoon hit: fat drops pelted down, turning the ground to mush. Kids shrieked, shoes slapping the muddy track as they sprinted for shelter.

My salwar stuck to my legs, rainwater running into my socks, the muddy smell mixing with the sharp scent of wet earth. I was still far behind when my knee gave out and I fell hard. The pain was excruciating, my uniform soaked, my elbow smarting.

The PT sir shouted from the verandah but didn’t run to help. I lay in the mud, rain and tears blurring my vision. I reached out, grabbing a pant leg—instinct, desperate and clumsy.

'I can't get up... Can you help me?'

A moment’s hesitation. Then the leg was pulled away. 'No.'

It was Arjun’s voice. Riya, next to him, laughed, 'Told you not to lose weight. Now you can’t even run and fell, see?' Arjun held an umbrella, shielding Riya. Only the toes of their shoes got wet. I, soaked to the skin, looked even more pitiful. Arjun’s face was calm, unreadable. He walked right past. 'I can't help you.'

Their silent exchange—Riya’s smirk, Arjun’s raised eyebrow—cut deeper than any words. I stared at their backs, my throat dry despite the rain pouring into my mouth. No one helped. Voices floated from the entrance: 'She doesn’t look like she’s faking. Should we help her?' 'If you want to be a hero, go ahead.' 'Who the hell said I like motis?'

After seven or eight minutes, I finally sat up, hair dripping in my eyes, mud and tears mixing. But I still couldn’t stand. I wrapped my arms around my knees, shivering, focusing on the thought of Dadi’s food—aloo paratha with extra ghee, dal chawal with mango pickle—just to keep from falling apart. My phone buzzed with a forwarded joke from my cousin, the WhatsApp notification a cruel reminder that the world kept moving, even when I felt left behind.

The only thing that kept me together was the memory of Dadi’s smile and the promise of a hot meal at home.