Chapter 4: Olympiad Tamasha & The Big Swap

On Olympiad day, I finally exhaled. As we left the exam hall, Priya was all business: “Ananya, how was it? Let’s check the answers with ma’am.” Her fingers tapped her bag nervously, eyes scanning the crowd as classmates pretended not to listen.

[Meera is so cautious—three swaps only, each one a turning point!]

I scrolled the WhatsApp group, nearly snorting. So fate’s big turning point is just stealing someone else’s hard work?

I headed to the staffroom and recited every question, analysing each step. Except the last one, my answers were perfect. The teacher grinned. “Ananya, you’ve cracked it.”

For a second, jealousy flared in Priya’s eyes before she masked it. “Ananya, as expected…” Her shoulders drooped just a bit, the fight draining out of her.

[Meera, stay strong. Ananya’s only ahead because of her resources.]

[School’s best teacher, national tutors, rich family—if Meera had that, result would be same.]

[Just swap, Meera. You deserve it.]

“Thanks, Priya. You’ve been a great study partner. If I get the spot, meal’s on me.”

Her smile was tight. WhatsApp comments scrolled faster:

[Does Meera need your meal? So rich, so funny.]

[Still dreaming of guaranteed admission? Meera won’t let you have it.]

“Okay.” Priya’s fists clenched, smile frozen.

“How about you, Priya?”

She looked away. “Not so well. Boards pe focus karungi.”

After Priya left, her smile vanished. I knew she was deciding—swap, or not?

The Olympiad results day was a proper Indian tamasha. The teacher reserved a class just to show the results. The projector flickered, casting shadows. The ceiling fan creaked overhead. Someone muttered a prayer—“Bhagwan, iss baar pass karwa dena”—while everyone leaned in, eyes glued to the screen.

Priya looked relaxed. “Congrats in advance, Ananya.”

“Results aren’t out yet.” I eyed her. “But you’re confident.”

She smiled mysteriously. “After this, let me treat you.”

[Meera is standing up! Ab toh asli tamasha shuru hoga!]

I barely held in my laugh. “Fine, your treat.”

The teacher typed my roll number first. Everyone held their breath.

Result: [0 marks.]

A gasp swept the class, louder than the lunch bell. For a split second, I thought: technical error? This is India—sometimes even computers go on strike during results.

The teacher looked confused. “Ananya, how? You answered everything…”

I glanced at Priya. Her lips twitched upward before she hid her smile.

[Hahaha, Meera did the swap! Guaranteed spot! Ananya’s going to some third-rate college.]

I swallowed, straightened my back. Amma’s words echoed: "When you fail in public, hold your head high." I forced myself to stand tall.

“I’ll check details later. Let’s start class, ma’am.”

Priya piped up: “Ma’am, meri result bhi check kar lijiye. Important nahi hai?”

[Teacher ignoring Meera? Ab aayega asli maza!]

Kabir laughed, “Priya, your physics is always worse. If Ananya failed, what chance do you have?”

“Why not?” Priya’s fists shook. “I’ve worked hard too. Is second place not human? Can’t I get the spot?”

She turned to me. “Ananya, you think I’m worthless?”

The room went silent, even the traffic outside seemed to hush. Priya’s voice was raw, desperate—the ache of always being second best.

“Priya, logon ko apni aukaat pata honi chahiye.”

I tilted my head. “Better not check. Come for the boards with me?”

My words were sharp. A few classmates flinched, but I didn’t back down. This wasn’t just marks—it was pride.

[Supporting girl ki asli rang dikh gayi! Bas paisa hai, attitude hai. Ab dekh, Priya ka time aaya.]

The teacher typed Priya’s roll number. Priya stared at the screen, biting her lip.

She whispered, “Ananya, I know you look down on me. My marks aren’t as good, but don’t insult my hard work. I’m not worthless.”

The page loaded.

Her guaranteed admission spot was right there.

And in that moment, I realised—sometimes, even hard work can vanish with a single click.