Chapter 3: Lunchroom Drama and Guilt

The WhatsApp comments rolled on:

[Ananya is actually pretty capable.]

[Of course, she’s a Mumbai society princess—private tutors at home. Meera toh sirf apne dum pe hai.]

[Ananya has family backing, Meera has the system. Olympiad swap is only fair, right?]

From that day, Priya became more anxious about my progress than the teachers. Every week: “Ananya, feeling confident? If you get a guaranteed spot, you’re a genius.” Or, “Ananya, tu bas padh. I’ll bring you food.”

Her voice was soft, the kind of warmth you hear when a hostel mate offers you a hot paratha. But I wondered if she was counting every bite, every scribbled note.

“How could our Ananya eat this stuff?”

Kabir slid his dabba across the desk, the aroma of paneer butter masala mixing with the scent of Priya’s aloo paratha. He produced a fancy insulated tiffin. “Ananya, eat mine. I made it just for you.”

Kabir—the male lead from the memes, and the guy Priya secretly liked. He sat in front, eyes hopeful. “Ananya, try it. If you don’t like, I’ll learn new recipes.”

His voice carried, backbenchers whistled. Priya’s hand trembled as she picked up her steel dabba, jaw clenched so tight her cheek twitched.

She glared at Kabir. “Stop bothering Ananya. She’s working hard—your grades are last. Don’t drag her down.”

She straightened, staring him down. “Ananya isn’t dating anyone.”

Classmates gathered. “Priya, this is between Ananya and Kabir. They’re childhood friends.”

“It’s fine if they date. You’re not competing with Kabir for Ananya just because you’re desk mates, are you?”

The group burst out laughing.

Priya’s face flushed. “So what if they’re childhood friends? Ananya, even if you have options, girls should focus on studies. Good marks, more choices.”

You could feel the judgment in the air—like colony aunties who spot you with a boy outside tuition. Priya’s voice was steady, but her fingers fidgeted.

[Worthy of a shuddh desi heroine!]

[She’s a mastermind—makes Ananya study, swaps grades, and sets up Kabir’s dislike for her to make swapping affection easy later.]

I’d never understood why Priya was always at odds with Kabir—calling him lazy, useless, hinting that he had only his family’s money. Now I saw: it was all to lower his affection, so she could swap it later.

“Priya’s right.”

I picked up the lunch in front of me and tossed Kabir’s dabba into the dustbin. “We’re going to be independent women. Relying on ourselves is best.”

A classmate gasped, “Arre, food ka insult mat kar!” The silence was thick, broken only by the clang of steel against the bin. Even I felt Amma’s voice in my head—never waste food, beta. For a second, guilt flickered, but I steeled myself. Competition first.

Kabir stared, face stiffening. “Ananya, trampling on my feelings like this?”

“My grades are at the bottom, so I’m not good enough? If you don’t like me, I’ll tell your parents and call off the childhood engagement!”

He stormed out, cheeks red. The class was silent, then giggles rippled through. Priya’s eyes darted, embarrassed but trying to recover.

Priya stammered, “Ananya, I didn’t mean it. I don’t want to ruin things with Kabir. You shouldn’t have thrown away the food.”

I forced a smile. “I know. But I can’t be distracted. Exams come first.”

I buried myself in revision, just waiting for the real tamasha when the Olympiad results dropped.