Chapter 7: Breakfast Battles

Toppers just think differently. Within five minutes, Rohan had settled things with Priya, who was now unusually quiet. The confession wall posts about me vanished—deleted by some mysterious hand.

She shot me a glare but returned to her seat, silent.

Rohan slid a pack of wet wipes onto my desk. "Sorry, clean it off."

The packaging was pink, and as I pulled one out, it smelled faintly of strawberries.

I opened my notebook. "When do we start?"

He answered instantly, "Every weekend."

"Okay."

It was Wednesday. Only two days to go—Thursday, Friday.

Priya seemed determined to flaunt her childhood friend status. Every morning, she brought breakfast from Sharma’s Samosa Stall and placed it on Rohan’s desk, right across from me. Blushing, she’d say, "Your stomach isn’t good. Make sure you eat it all."

Sharma’s samosas—aloo and paneer—the aroma was mouthwatering.

Remembering this, I secretly brought breakfast to the library on Saturday. "I brought this for you. Eat it while it’s hot."

Rohan looked stunned.

I said, "Ma says poha is good for the brain. You need it more than me, topper."

He grinned, "Aunty ka secret recipe, haan?"

I pushed the poha towards him. "Hurry up and eat, or someone might see."

He held the poha I’d saved from the night before, cheeks suspiciously red.

Saturday mornings in the library were always hushed. Somewhere, the librarian’s steel bangles clinked as she rearranged books, a background soundtrack to our whispered conversation. I’d wrapped the poha in old newspaper, just like Ma did for Papa’s tiffin, and tucked in some mirchi pickle. From a corner table, two girls watched us, but I ignored them, savouring this small, secret peace.

Priya slumped in her seat, pulling out her tiffin box but not touching it, eyes fixed on the window. The pain in her silence made my heart ache, even as I tried to focus on my own little happiness.