School went on as usual. I attended my classes, half-listening to the endless lectures while sneaking glances at the book open on my lap. Sometimes I wondered if books hadn't been there, how would I have survived this dull world so far? They were my shield and my safe haven.
My routine had settled back into its old shape. No thoughts of the crazy guy in the corridor. No dark spirals dragging me down every five minutes.Been a while since it felt like peace. Things at home weren't any better, as always, and sometimes my mind drifted back to those old thoughts—ending it, running from it all. But another part of me whispered maybe I should give things another chance. Maybe.
The last bell rang and I hurried towards the bus lot, eager to get back to my room and curl up on my mattress. Shreya crossed my path in the hall and smiled; I smiled back. She and I had grown into good acquaintances, our small talk mostly about books. She was always bright, always knowing some new gossip, always moving from one group to another like she belonged everywhere. Sometimes I wished I could talk to her more, but it didn't matter. I usually ended up disappointing people anyway.
The bus left the school gates, rolling past the same streets and same houses as it always did. The day was as normal as it could be—except for the faint echo of an invitation I'd turned down earlier. Aksh had asked me to join his group for a dance program. I'd refused on the spot. It felt easier to go home and sleep rather than meeting strangers, and most importantly making excuses to leave the house. But as the bus rattled on, I wondered if I should have said yes. They were strangers, and my gut told me something was off—especially after seeing Garvit and Ayaan laugh under their breath. Yet it could have been fun. Maybe this was Aksh's way of trying to nudge me into enjoying life again. Pushy, yes, but maybe it was the only way he knew.
My stop arrived. The bus dropped me two blocks from home, like always. On my walk back there's a small canteen I often stop at. It's nothing fancy—just a counter, a fridge humming softly, a row of metal chairs under a patched-up awning—but it serves the best sandwich I've ever had. When I skip lunch, this is where my saved coins go. Best 30 rupees I spend all day. A Smoodh drink from the fridge to go with it, and that's my lunch.
I placed my order and sat on one of the chairs near the edge of the shade. The sun was blazing but a cooler in the corner blew out steady streams of air, making it just bearable. The smell of toasted bread and frying snacks mixed with the dusty scent of the street. I could hear traffic a little further away—bikes honking, a bus screeching—but here it was mostly the sound of chatter. Groups of college and coaching students filled the place. Friends huddled over plates of samosas, laughing at jokes I couldn't hear. Someone played music softly from a phone speaker; a pop song drifted between the tables.
I always ended up watching them. Their faces so open and carefree, their giggles spilling into the afternoon like it was the easiest thing in the world. They probably had good homes to return to. Friends who helped with assignments, checked on them, made weekend plans. Crushes to text late at night. It felt naive to imagine all that, but somewhere inside me, I was jealous.
My thoughts drifted until a plate of sandwich slid onto the table in front of me. "Order ready," the man behind the counter called out. I got up to grab my Smoodh from the fridge, the cool plastic bottle wet with dew..
The first bite was as good as always. The crust was perfectly toasted and just a little charred, giving that deep crunch. A lot of sandwiches get soggy by the time you eat them, but the man here knew exactly what he was doing. The mayo balanced the spices; the onions and tomatoes always fit together without slipping out. A sprinkle of namkeen on top gave every bite an extra crunch. And when the spices hit too hard, I could wash it all down with the sweet, cool drink.
It was simple, affordable, and mine. My little comfort in the middle of everything. For a moment, I wished I could sit there all day—watching the trees sway gently in the breeze, earbuds blasting music into my canal, a book of Shakespeare's poetry in my lap. But it was just a dream. If I didn't reach home on time, it would create a huge ruckus. I'd been accused of going out with boys and being a "bad" girl just for being late by half an hour. I had no intention of ever letting that happen again.
So I packed my things and hurried toward my dungeon of a home. The sun had climbed higher, the heat pushing past bearable. Sweat poured down my forehead in slow, relentless drips. The five-minute walk felt endless under the blazing sun, the pavement radiating warmth through my shoes. By the time I reached home, my back was soaked, clothes sticking uncomfortably to my skin.
I needed a bath. I climbed the stairs two at a time, my bag thrown carelessly into a corner of my room. I quickly stripped off my sweat-drenched clothes and stepped into the shower. The moment the water hit my skin, the relief was immediate. Cool streams washed away not just the sweat, but the tension and panic of the afternoon. Each drop seemed to carry a little piece of the day's weight down the drain.
By the time I stepped out, towel-wrapped and clean, I felt rejuvenated. My mood had lifted, and I even felt motivated enough to study, something I hadn't anticipated before stepping into the shower. The simple act of bathing was enough to have me up in my spirits.
Only to be called down by my aunt. We've been living together for six years now, yet her horrendous scream still manages to jolt me every single time. "Kriti! Come down!" she yelled. She's not entirely horrible, but there are days when I can almost feel her resentment dripping through her words.
I quickly put on a T-shirt and shorts and headed to the floor below, where the other family lived.
"Yes?" I asked as I entered.
"Have food. What else?" she snapped. Her tone has grown sharper with each passing day. I know I'm a burden to them since my parents passed away, and every taunt reminds me of it. Maybe she's right. Maybe I deserve it.
I wasn't hungry after the snacks I'd just had, so I settled for one roti and served myself a little sabji. I sat down next to Arnav, my younger brother, who was glued to his phone.
"Didi, I got full marks today!" he burst out, eyes bright with excitement. He loves telling me about his studies, and I always help him with whatever he's learning. He's my cute little brother — untouched by the bitterness his mother holds for me.
"That's so great!" I matched his excitement, smiling as I patted his head.
"Mummy got me this. See!" he said, proudly showing me a Lego set she'd bought for him. A sting ran down my spine. Maybe on the way back from school, they'd stopped at the shop. Always playing favorites. Well, why wouldn't she? He's her real child, not me.
I remembered, only a month ago I topped my class 10th exams — all I got was a flat, "Wow. Good for you." It's been a while since I've felt appreciated here. School doesn't help either.
"That's so cool!" I told Arnav anyway, I was genuinely happy for him. And jealous as well.
My eyes dropped to my plate. Memories crept in without asking. My father handed me a crayon box for my art competition in fifth grade. My mother fed me with her own hands when I got full marks in math.What would have been their reaction to me scoring the highest in my boards? Arnav's happiness was making me remember everything I try so hard to forget. I'm a bad person for getting jealous, that too from a child.
I finished my food and slipped away to my room without a word. I buried my face into my pillow, curling up as tears spilled before I could stop them. It's been so long since I last cried, and now it won't stop. I wished I could disappear somewhere where existing wasn't a burden. I wished, just once, someone would pick me first, buy me something, smile at me the way they smile at him. I wanted to be somebody's favorite too.
But I'm not. I'm the leftover. The extra. The mistake. My parents are gone because of me. My friends left because of me. Everything I touch falls apart. And still I go on, carrying this jealousy, this guilt, this hollow feeling that keeps eating me from the inside. I hate it. I hate myself. And I don't even know how to stop anymore.
Beep. My phone vibrated. I had a text from an unknown account on instagram
"Change of mind?" It was Aksh. Something took over me. I just wanted to leave.
"Yes. I'll come"