Chapter 7: What Remains

I went back to school.

My father was in the office, slapped me as soon as he saw me.

“You idiot, you said you were sick and went to the doctor, but I was sneezing all day! Where were you roaming?”

That familiar sting on my cheek brought me back to reality. Only in our homes, a slap is less about pain and more about setting things straight. The peon outside the office pretended not to notice. My father’s voice echoed in the corridor.

I asked my father sadly: “Do you think there are really parents who are so biased they treat their own kids like enemies?”

My father smacked me again: “What nonsense? Talking about ancestors won’t help, what did you do?”

I said I went to get my money back.

My father got nervous, asked if someone bullied me, looked at the class teacher, then asked if I got the money back.

I said no, but I would. Told him not to worry.

People are really strange.

When Little Shell was around, everything about her annoyed me, even that fat guy annoyed me.

Seeing them talking in front made me irritable, affected my studies.

When friends joked about me and Little Shell, I got angry.

I wanted to make it clear we had nothing to do with each other.

Wanted to make a big poster to announce to the world we were just classmates.

I even deliberately talked about my ideal type of girl when she came in, all the opposite of her.

“Long hair, small eyes, big mouth, pointy face—”

Friends frowned, asked if I was a pervert, liked long-haired bull terriers.

Little Shell had no expression, as if she didn’t hear.

But I clearly saw her pull at her short hair when she sat down, uncomfortable.

But after she left, I suddenly found round things, short hair, small mouth all pleasing to the eye.

Even the fat guy, his “oh oh oh” sounded nice.

I had him tutor me, specifically those lessons Little Shell taught him, every step had to be included, even the interjections.

After a while, the fat guy started avoiding me, looking troubled.

“Rohan bhai, I actually like… girls.”

“Get lost! Wait, come back, finish this problem… did you even pay attention, you missed a ‘let’s look here’—”

Maybe my brain got infected by Little Shell.

On weekends going home, I saw a stray indie dog on the street, its grass-chewed look just like Little Shell’s dog-bit bangs.

I called out: “Little Shell.”

The skinny dog ran over, sniffed me, wagged its tail like mad.

I was crazy, always hated dogs, but found this one pleasing to the eye, took it home.

Aunty clucked her tongue, warning me not to let the dog near the sofa.

The class beauty sitting next to me talked less and less.

The next month, she suddenly told the teacher she wanted to change seats, and before leaving gave me an address.

“It’s Class Three.”

She told me.

The address was a pretty remote government school in a small town.

Just one look at the address and I suddenly realised, stood up during tuition.

The class teacher looked at me.

I said: “My father is sick, this time really sick, I have to go see him.”

My voice cracked just a bit, but nobody laughed. For the first time, I felt I was telling the truth, even if the reason was all wrong. I grabbed my bag and rushed out, my heart pounding with memories and things left unsaid. Somewhere in that rush, I realised—I might never see Little Shell again, but I’d never forget her.