Chapter 3: Board Exam Day

The day of the board exams arrived.

I made my way to the centre alone, school ID dangling from a faded lanyard. Outside, the Delhi sun beat down on the tin roof. Inside, ceiling fans groaned and the sharp smell of naphthalene balls mixed with chalk dust.

At the school gate, I ran into Ananya—surrounded by a crowd: Mr. Sharma, Mrs. Sharma, and... my mother, Kamala Devi.

Everyone hovered over Ananya, showering her with affection. Mrs. Sharma thrust a steel dabba of laddoos into her hands, Mr. Sharma kept patting her head, and Kamala Devi—my own mother— fussed over Ananya’s uniform, holding a water bottle and handkerchief, her eyes full of pride.

Kamala Devi never looked at me that way. I glanced down at my shoes—scuffed and gray—while Ananya’s were spotless white, like they’d never touched a speck of dust. My mother hadn’t come home in months. I survived in a cramped 2BHK, paint peeling, while she served the Sharmas’ bungalow. Not even a hundred-rupee note left behind—sometimes not even a WhatsApp ping asking if I’d eaten.

If not for my part-time jobs—typing, tutoring, errands—I wouldn’t have managed. My bag still holds a yellowed Rs. 20 note from my first tuition gig.

But maybe that’s better. If Kamala Devi had come, she’d just scold, make me scrub floors, never let me study in peace. She always muttered, "Stay in your place, don’t dream so big."

Now, after seeing the WhatsApp barrage and this scene, I finally understood why.

[Supporting character ki toh life hi khatam hai—adoptive maa supports Ananya, not her. Even after truth comes out, real parents don’t care. Loveless, all alone...]

[Marks swap nahi hoga toh Ananya ka epic moment kaise aayega?]

[But isko dekh, kitna padhai kiya hai! Ananya toh party kar rahi thi. Kuch toh gadbad hai...]

A strange smile tugged at my lips. Maybe, just maybe, someone out there finally saw me.

But to Ananya, my smile meant something else entirely.

“Ritika!”

Across the crowd, Ananya’s voice rang out—so loud, a few aunties in sequined saris turned, some boys snickered.

“Ritika, why are you smiling? Getting overconfident before the exam?”

She bounced over, anklets chiming.

I kept my face blank, fingers clenched around my admit card. “Nothing much. You?”

“What do you think? Five tutors, yaar. You’ve never even touched my rank.”

She was putting on a show.

I kept my voice soft. “Ananya, seriously, do your best. Life doesn’t always give second chances.”

She tossed her hair, flashing a sly grin. “Of course! Just for your sake, Ritika, I’ll do my~best~today.”

“Bas, enough—”

Kamala Devi lunged forward, blocking Ananya like a lioness with her cub. Her eyes shot daggers at me.

“Ritika, girls like you—who are you to disturb Miss Ananya? Chalo, move away!”

Mr. and Mrs. Sharma drifted over, their designer perfume drowning out the sweat and dust. Both looked me up and down, like I was some stray cat.

“Ananya, don’t waste energy. Come, beta, get inside. Don’t let these people distract you.”

My first time meeting my biological parents—the famous Sharmas, never sparing me a second glance. But I’d read the barrage. My heart was already shielded.

And when you expect nothing, you can’t be disappointed.

A tightness clenched my chest, the taste of old tears prickling my tongue. But I swallowed it down, straightened my shoulders, and put on my brave face. No more breaking.

I turned and walked towards the exam room. The old fans creaked above, walls stained with the ghosts of past batches.

After 18 years of swallowing insults, hiding tears in pillow covers, always invisible—this time, I refuse to lose.