Chapter 3: Playing It Safe

Ever since I was a child, all my skill points were in studying.

Other kids would slog over textbooks for hours; I could recite them backwards after a single reading. My memory was sharper than the edge of Amma’s kitchen knife.

I understood concepts at a glance and solved tough problems with ease.

But I also knew that in a small, ordinary colony, standing out too much wasn’t wise. There’s always some aunty ready to mutter, “Aagey jaake akal ki dushman banegi.”

So, even though I had to be first every year to get the scholarship, my score was always just under five marks higher than Ritika, who was second. I kept the competition close, just enough to be safe, but never enough to spark jealousy or gossip over chai.

Except for once.

The day before a monthly test, I saw Kabir and Ritika holding hands outside the exam hall. The noon sun made their skin glow, and they looked like they’d stepped straight out of a Karan Johar film. But inside, I was burning with jealousy, like ghee sputtering in a too-hot pan.

During the maths exam, I couldn’t help but answer an extra big question. I tapped my pen against the desk and just kept writing, letting the anger bleed onto the page.

During the physics exam, out of spite, I got every multiple-choice question right. For once, I didn’t care if someone would gossip about me outscoring Ritika.

That monthly test, I scored a full 35 marks higher than Ritika. The teachers raised their eyebrows, and even the principal patted my back at assembly, murmuring something about a ‘bright future.’

Afterwards, I regretted my lack of restraint for days. The neighbours’ glances became sharper; Amma told me, “Beta, thoda sambhal ke.”

Until the third day, when Kabir appeared before me.

He wore a bright yellow No. 23 jersey, jogging up with his beautiful face full of apology. The ball bounced at his hip, and the juniors on the playground all watched, whispering.

“Sorry, Meera, my shot just now was off and hit you.”

“Are you okay? Do you want me to take you to the infirmary?”

I could guess with my toes that this basketball flying at me wasn’t an accident. Our school loved this kind of drama—someone always plotting, always playing games.

Just as I knew full well that Kabir was approaching me on purpose, probably for Ritika—maybe to vent for her, maybe for a bet.

But whatever the reason.

That was my only chance to get close to Kabir. Even if it meant playing the fool for a while.