Left Behind for the Girl He Saved / Chapter 1: The First Day and the Accusation
Left Behind for the Girl He Saved

Left Behind for the Girl He Saved

Author: Pooja Nair

Chapter 1: The First Day and the Accusation

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On her first day, Sneha clutched her battered school bag, eyes darting to the empty seat beside Rohan. He smiled at her, and for a moment, the entire classroom seemed to hold its breath, the whir of the ceiling fan drowning out the usual gossip.

From that very first day, it was obvious to all of us—Rohan had a soft spot for Sneha. He’d pause at her desk to ask, "Tiffin laya na?" share Parle-G biscuits, or step in when the seniors tried to rag her. There was a gentle warmth in his voice whenever he spoke to her, the sort that even the strictest teachers couldn’t help but notice. Soon enough, we started whispering in the corridors about Sneha and the strange spell she seemed to cast over Rohan. Some joked, "Pata nahi, yaar, gaon se koi lucky charm le aayi hogi," but I knew Rohan’s heart had always gone out to those who needed help. Still, every time I saw them together, it stung—more than I’d ever admit, even to myself.

But then, the day I pointed at Sneha and accused her of stealing the class funds, I could see her spirit shatter right in front of everyone.

It wasn’t just my words—it was how the whole class turned to stare at her, the sudden hush broken by a tiffin box clattering to the floor. Some girls exchanged glances, one covered her mouth behind her palm, and even our teacher’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as she tapped her ruler on the desk. Rumours in our small school spread like masala on hot samosas, and I watched Sneha’s cheeks turn crimson with shame. For a heartbeat, guilt pricked me, but anger kept me upright. No one liked a thief—especially not in front of Rohan.

Sneha ran from the room in tears, but fate was even crueler—she slipped on the stairs, her chappal flying off, and landed hard on her knee.

I heard her sobs echo down the corridor, mingling with the distant ring of the school bell. When I finally reached her, she was clutching her knee, her dupatta muddy, tears streaking her face. A crowd had already gathered, their murmurs swirling around us. Someone called for the nurse. I stood there, frozen, my stomach twisted in knots. Guilt began to gnaw at me, but I couldn’t show it—not then, not with everyone watching.

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