Chapter 2: Broken Gifts

When I met Arjun’s gaze, his expression turned a bit stiff.

He looked away quickly, as if wishing the earth would swallow him whole. There was something awkward in the way he shifted his weight, hands shoved in his pockets, pretending to be fascinated by the peeling paint on the wall behind me.

The boy holding the watch scratched his head awkwardly. "Uh... do you want it back?"

He held it out like it was some cursed object, his face scrunched in embarrassment. The other classmates shuffled their feet, pretending not to notice the tension in the air.

I looked at the watch in his hand—it had been tossed around so much it was completely unrecognisable, clearly never treasured.

The once-bright plastic was now smudged with grime, the strap hanging by a thread. My eyes stung as I saw the faint scratches—each one a silent witness to how little it had mattered.

It wasn’t anything fancy, just under a thousand rupees, but I had saved for almost a year to buy it. Every rupee came from cutting back on my own meals.

Even now, the memory of skipping my favourite samosas, and the longing glances at mangoes in the bazaar, made my chest ache. I had imagined how he’d smile when he wore it—how childish.

My eyes drifted to Arjun’s wrist. He was wearing a watch that day. I couldn’t tell the brand, but I knew it was far nicer than the one I’d given him.

Some imported brand maybe—definitely out of my league. I tried not to stare, but the difference stung. That new watch glittered under the tube light, a silent reminder of everything I lacked.

Silently, I took the watch from his friend’s hand, looked at Arjun, and quietly said, "Sorry. I’ll take care of it myself."

My voice was barely more than a whisper. There was a pause—a long, uncomfortable silence where it felt like everyone was holding their breath.

Arjun lowered his head, lips pressed tightly together, saying nothing.

For a second, I hoped he might say something, anything. But he just stared at the floor, jaw clenched, as if swallowing words he could never voice.

Embarrassed, I fiddled with the watch and turned to leave.

My fingers fumbled with the broken strap, my cheeks burning. Someone snickered softly behind me. I willed myself not to cry, not here, not in front of them.

Passing the first dustbin by the school gate, I forced myself to throw the watch straight in.

The clang of cheap metal against plastic echoed in my ears, louder than the traffic outside. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could take it back, but it was too late. My hands trembled, the memory of every skipped meal flashing before me.

I turned back to look at him.

He lazily lifted his eyelids, a mocking smile at the corner of his mouth, his eyes full of disdain.

That look—half-bored, half-smug—burned into my mind. Some of the other boys nudged each other, whispering behind their hands. I wanted to disappear.

I froze for a moment, then lowered my gaze.

My toes curled inside my sandals. I tried to focus on the cracks in the concrete, the sound of a distant auto-rickshaw honking. Anything but his eyes.

It was humiliating—my secret crush.

In that moment, I wished the earth would open up and swallow me whole. The shame was heavy, almost physical, pressing down on my shoulders. I wanted to run, but my feet felt like lead.

Back then, I didn’t know that Arjun’s look would almost become my nightmare.

Who knew a single glance could follow me for so many years, like a shadow that never left, haunting even my dreams?