When I reached home, everyone was already there. Mumma had just returned from shopping with my elder brother, carrying bags of groceries. My two brothers looked at me and burst out laughing like I was some walking comedy show.
"Will you please now show me my result?" I asked, half nervous, half excited.
Mumma handed me the envelope. But before I could open it, they teased, "You topped in class."
"Ohoo God, seriously?" I gasped, my heart racing. I was beyond happy—like finally, finally something good.
But then reality.
"It's just 76 marks," Mumma said flatly.
My smile stayed, but theirs didn't. Mumma's face clouded with disappointment. "Siya, are you satisfied with this?"
I nodded slowly. "Mumma, at least I topped. After corona, it was hard even to score this much."
But her silence pierced deeper than words. "There are also complaints about you," she added.
"Complaints? What kind?"
"Identify them yourself."
The happy moment shattered like glass. My brothers didn't help either. "Seventy-six isn't topper's marks," one of them laughed. "Don't think you topped because you're smart. Your whole class is garbage, and you're just the topper of garbage."
They were joking. But it didn't feel like a joke. It was heavy, pressing, suffocating. I slipped out to the balcony, my chest tight, my throat burning. Why couldn't they be happy for me? Just once?
That's when Papa called. My heart sank. I didn't want to pick up. I knew he would shout too. But avoiding him wasn't an option.
"Hello," I whispered. "I'm sorry, Papa. I tried but—"
"It's okay, Moona," Papa's voice was soft, calm. "I know you tried. The issue is not that your marks are low. The issue is that you are satisfied with them. You were always a 90+ student. Suddenly, even if you top with 76, it's not enough."
And he was right. His words stung, but deep down, they were true. My class wasn't extraordinary. Maybe I was just the smartest among the dumb. The topper of garbage.
For a moment, I hated them all—Mumma, my brothers, everyone. But then I realized… it wasn't them. It was me. Instead of blaming, I needed to face my own mistakes.
I whispered again, "I'm sorry, Papa." But this time, not for the marks. For letting myself settle.
Later, I opened my tablet. Ayesha's text was still there. The one she had written, deleted, then retyped.
> "Stay away from Ayyan."
At first, I wanted to ignore it. But something in me changed after talking to Papa. So I replied—
"I'm not interested in him. If you think something, say it to Ayyan, not me. I never did anything extra to get his attention. Sometimes fate places me near him, sometimes he talks first. I know my limits. If he's kind, it's because he can't be rude to a classmate, that's all. And yes, I'm not wrong about this."
I hit send and felt a strange calm settle over me. Because it was true—I wasn't wrong.
Vacations slipped into routine. My brothers made me start early preparation for Class 10 boards. And because Maths was my weakest subject, I got endless slaps on my hands whenever I couldn't solve problems. It hurt, but maybe I deserved it.
That's how my days passed—crying, laughing, studying, fighting, playing. Somewhere in between, I realized everything with family still felt complete.
But deep down, I missed my friends.
Soon, school announced extra classes for Class 10. Just 10–20 days, but enough to bring us all back together. I pretended to be irritated, but secretly… I was happy. Not because of Ayyan. Not anymore.
At least, that's what I told myself.
Because later that night, while washing my face, cold water splashing against my skin, the question slapped me harder than my brothers ever did—
If I was truly over him… then why did I search Tanu's ID on Snapchat?
Why couldn't I stop myself? Why did I care, even when I told myself I didn't?
I never found her. Nothing changed.
But still—why did my heart ache?