Chapter 9: The Breakfast Rift

Monday, the start of a new week. The childhood friends entered together, Priya’s eyes shining with excitement—until Rohan walked straight over to me and placed a packed breakfast on my desk.

Priya’s smile froze instantly.

"Rohan, isn’t that the breakfast you bought for me?"

He frowned. "I never said that."

Priya looked from him to me, then shouted, "So even if your stomach hurts so much you’re almost late, you still go buy her breakfast in the morning?"

She didn’t wait for an answer, stomping back to her seat.

Rohan frowned. "I didn’t do anything to upset her…"

The classroom’s Monday morning drowsiness vanished, replaced by electric anticipation. Two boys at the back whistled, someone coughed, and a group of girls exchanged knowing looks. Even the cleaning aunty paused, mop in hand, sensing the drama. All eyes shifted to me, measuring and judging as only college students could.

I sighed and pushed the breakfast back onto his desk. "Why not give it to her? Priya looks like she really wants to eat it."

He hesitated, but Priya’s stubborn voice rang out from behind us. "Who wants your stupid breakfast?!"

Her eyes were red, looking utterly pitiful.

Rohan’s brow furrowed. "No need. I bought it for you."

Behind us, someone slammed their book down. I slowly tore open the brown paper wrapping. Aloo and paneer samosas—delicious. But my deskmate kept running to the bathroom, ruining my appetite. I stuffed the samosa into my desk.

"Rohan, are you okay?"

He looked pale. "I think I ate something bad. It started last night."

I shoved the remaining samosas into his hands. "Then eat these to keep your strength up."

We weren’t close enough to share breakfast, but he tucked them into his desk anyway, frowning.

Behind us, someone was flipping notebook pages extra loudly.

They used to go to and from college together. On Monday night, no one knew what Priya was busy with, but when the bell rang, she shook off Rohan and left campus first.

That night, the confession wall exploded:

"Wall, didn’t they say the class topper and the topper girl aren’t together? I saw them sharing breakfast—look, here’s a photo! Is this the same packaging?"

Another anonymous post, this time with a filter on my photo. Comparing the packaging in mine and Rohan’s hands, before and after.

In the comments, people speculated about when we got together, whether our marks were close enough to apply to the same college.

Another user, momo, jumped in. The IP looked suspiciously familiar.

"They won’t end up together. Rohan already has a childhood friend. Does Neha really compare?"

Outside, street dogs howled as the sun set. I wrapped my shawl tighter, the ceiling fan creaking above. The phone’s glow was harsh in the dark room. Ma called me for dinner twice before I put my phone down. In every middle-class home, dinner talk meant avoiding boys, but I wished I could tell someone how it really felt to be at the heart of such tamasha.