The School Topper

Initially, I’d held my head high in the deep green, silver-bordered saree I was wearing. But walking through the gargantuan crowd of hundreds of students in the school lobby, every girl’s drape had brighter motifs than mine. Inching through circles of students, I bumped into a shoulder.

“Excuse me,” I breathed. He turned to look at me.

“Hi Laila,” he greeted, wearing a shining brown tuxedo. I stumbled as I recognized his voice. Keeping my head down, I muttered: “Hey Kush,” and rushed past him. Glancing back for a split second, my heart cracked. Chocolate brown always complemented Kush’s glimmering eyes and light skin.

I shook off the encounter. A few meters away, Jahnvi was standing with her usual group next to the elevator. “Jahnvi!”

Her eyes flickered to me. My stomach dropped. The blood-red saree hugged her slender figure, draping over her shoulder like a veil over a portrait.

“You look ravishing,” I smiled, standing up straighter. “That color is royal on you.”

“Yeah right,” she scoffed. “Happy farewell! We’re 11th graders now!” Her dark face was aglow.

A whistle sounded through the hall. “Graduates!” Sujata mam’s voice boomed. “Move to the auditorium!” All the crowds surged forward. I turned to Jahnvi. “Hey, it’s a good thing we took a spot close to–”

Before I could finish, the elevator doors had opened to reveal its silver interior, and the entire clique had filed in . At the very front, Jahnvi shrugged. “Laila, the lift is full now. Don’t worry though, we’ll wait upstairs.”

I nodded. “Of course.” And the doors closed.

Like always, I stood staring at the closed lift. And like always, I sighed and took the next one.

No one was waiting when I arrived upstairs. The possible reasons were predictable: “We had to grab seats” or “The teachers pushed us out of the hallway”.

Later, as I proceeded towards the group seated in the bottom rows of the auditorium, Jahnvi saw me and her smile fell. “I’m so sorry. We tried waiting, but we had to catch seats. I can ask someone to get up, if you want.”

“No, you don’t have to do that. I’ll sit elsewhere.”

‘Elsewhere’, meaning the corner seat at the top, beside a stranger. Sitting back, I craned my neck to identify Kush in the middle of his gang a few rows down. I looked away to avoid being noticed, rubbing my bare arm against the cold of the AC.

The performances opened with a bang. Juniors burst onto the stage in glittering costumes, dancing to iconic bollywood numbers. Everybody clutched their friends’ hands when they played ‘Yaaron’(‘Friends’). I clutched the armrest of my chair, constantly glancing down at my watch to check the time. Two hours into the event, the moment finally came.

“Our graduates have been through a whirlwind this year,” the anchors said into the mic. I perked up in my seat, smoothening my hair with my hand. “One student in particular, has made our school proud by achieving the third rank in the state. Please welcome to the stage, Laila Kejriwal!”

Rhythmic applause rose above the audience like a rehearsed action. On my cue, I stood from my seat, teetering through the rows and down the steps to the stage. Spotlights glared into my eyes as I stepped towards the podium. When my vision cleared, the whole grade was staring back at me.

The anchors had already laid out a paper on the podium surface. “School Topper’s Speech,” it said, in my cursive handwriting.

“Good morning dignitaries and graduates,” I read, my voice bounding and leaping as rehearsed a million times. “10th grade has been a unique crucible to overcome. This past year, we prepared for the exam our entire lives built up towards. We challenged ourselves to our greatest extremities.” I paused, lingering on the last word. The extremities of tolerance. The extremities of discipline.

Silence hung thick over the ice-cold auditorium.

“We studied through festivals, weekends, Christmas, and Summer. We swapped out the Diwali diyas with study lamps and locked ourselves in our rooms as our families continued their lives outside.”

Our friends continued their lives outside. Our classmates continued their lives outside. “We sacrificed a lot this year, but gained a lot more.” My breath snagged on the word ‘gained’. “Subtracting a year out of our lives, we learned a plethora of lessons on hard work, sacrifice, and commitment.”

On staying in the classroom during P.E. On missing movies. On declining invitations to the mall.

“This year has transformed us all. And it has prepared us for our future courses.” My throat went dry as the final paragraph approached.

“And while our futures hold different paths, I have faith that our bond will bring us back together.”

Back together, how?

“Therefore, thank you, batch of 2025-26, for giving me…” my voice dropped. “Memories and friendships to last a lifetime. Thank you, and Happy Farewell.”

When I finished, the light sound of clapping hovered over a sea of neutral strangers.

The next few hours consisted of people clamboring around rented buses and leaving for the afterparty hall. I sat in the very front. Many rows behind me, people were screaming the words to Arijit Singh Songs I didn’t know.

How many more blockbusters had I missed that year?

The buses pulled up outside a glass-walled, one-story banquet hall paid for by the entire grade. People piled out onto the footpath in the afternoon sun, as I followed Jahnvi's group to the large-framed double doors.

The AC blasted on full force as we entered, pushed forward by the masses. Everyone gushed at the luxurious floor-to-ceiling brown curtains, wooden dance floor and centre chandelier. Round tables covered in white cloth ran along the edges of the room, with a pile of golden gift-boxes on the corner-table. I jumped as BGM erupted from the speakers against the far wall, and everybody dispersed to grab tables with their friends.

Music grated through the room as I leaned against the drinks bar, sipping coke from a tall glass. My heart lurched into my throat, as I heard my name called out. I turned and there he was, smiling with his hands in his trouser pockets. “What are you doing out here alone?” Kush asked, over the blaring music. “Come sit with us.”

Far behind him, a coven of students huddled around one of the tables, drinks in hand.

“I would love to,” I said. “But I’ll have to decline.”

His eyebrow twitched. “Why not? We won’t bite.”

“No, it’s not that..” I looked down at my shoes, holding up my glass. “I need to finish my drink.”

“Is that it? We’re not going to take your drink away, genius.”

“Trust me” I said. “I won’t be able to participate.”

He didn’t move for a few seconds, starkly still against the dance soundtrack. Then in one swift motion his hand wrapped around mine, and he was pulling me away with him.

“Hey Kush–”

“You're worried over nothing,” he said, without looking back. “Don’t overthink it. You’ll have a good time.”

Being dragged along behind him, the memories became clear as day from two years ago. When he had pulled me away from my textbooks on the lone table in the canteen. He’d introduced me and Jahnvi, just like he’d placed every new kid in the grade. Back then I was naive enough to think that his behavior towards me was unique. But it wasn’t. This was just his personality.

He seated me at the table as all the others pinned their eyes on me, my face red-hot. Three seats adjacent was Jahnvi, shining in bold red.

“I gotta tell you Laila,” Kush said, raising his voice so everyone at the table could hear. “Your speech today was freaking amazing.”

“Thanks, but it wasn’t the feat you think it was. The anchoring team just asked me to talk about exams.”

Jahnvi chuckled. “Not surprised.”

“So how were your exams?” I asked, daring to meet his eyes. This was a conversation I could definitely participate in.

His smile cracked. “A-and feel free to not answer that question if you don’t want to,” I stammered, panicking.

“You know what, I’m actually curious about this question,” another boy at the table remarked. “You didn’t say anything on the discord after boards. I thought you were asleep or something.”

His eyes unfocused. “They were alright.”

A lie. His shoulders never crunched inwards like that while talking.

“Let’s go dance!” Jahnvi rose from her chair. Like a queen’s entourage, everybody followed her to the dance floor. I waited, my eyes focused on Kush, who didn’t move from his chair, fidgeting with a glass on the tablecloth.

“Kush?” I ventured, as everyone went out of earshot. “I’m sorry if I overstepped earlier. I–”

He held up a weak hand. “You don’t need to apologize, it’s just…”

“It’s what? You can tell me.”

He stared thoughtfully at the glass, still fidgeting. “I just wasn’t in the mood to talk about boards tonight. Not on Farewell Day.”

I hesitated for a moment. “Did the exams not go well?”

His attention snapped towards me, making me blush.

“Look, I’m no expert on pop-culture references…but I do know about exams. So I might understand.”

He rubbed the back of his head. “I’m pretty sure we can’t compare your exam experience to mine.”

“That’s okay.”

A hint of surprise. “I mean, nothing very deep. I went into boards, all full of myself and….” he enacted an explosion. “Poof. I wrote a bunch of crap.”

“How do you know that? In my experience, the results end up radically better than what you expect.”

“That will be a low bar to cross . It’s not enough for some people.”

I frowned. “Your parents?”

“I think they were really hoping this time. They won’t be surprised, for sure.”

I remembered them from the parent-teacher conference. From a distance, I saw them examining his report card. Seeing their still faces I’d mumbled to myself: “They seem relaxed.”

“So they’re the ‘we support you, but deep down we want the grades’ type?” I propped my elbows on the table.

He laughed. “Bingo.”

“Well then, we do have one thing in common.”

“Please,” he scoffed. “You do know that your grades are pretty much public knowledge right?”

“Maybe, but I have failed tests before, you know. I’ve also felt that fear.”

“Getting a 68 once in your life isn’t failing,” he said.

I glared at him. “I’m not telling you the number. Kush, no one knows better than me what it feels like when your life is dictated by the numbers. And when that graph goes down, it’s like this new prognosis of where you’re gonna end up fifty years from now. I know that feeling, trust me.”

He shook his head. “Nah, you’ve beat it. Did you hear your speech today?”

“I heard it better than anyone,” I retorted. “All year I’ve thought that I was doing the right thing. That if I just had this one score, everything after would make sense. But…” He sat before me, hair tousled and eyes earnest, a star-sized birthmark on his right cheek. “Now I’m looking at a boy whom everybody loves. He makes connections, makes people care. He actually studies in the library. He asks questions in class, regardless of how others react, and he’s punctual with deadlines. He’s athletic, kind, and even hands–” My mouth hung open, his eyes widening

“He’s a good student,” I continued. “If people like him won’t be successful, then the rest of us don’t stand a chance. No board exam changes that.”

He let out an exasperated breath, a bewildered smile reaching his eyes. My whole body tensed as our gazes locked. Don’t look away. Don’t. Look. Away.

“What if I don’t believe you?”

“Statistically, that means I’m right.”

He snickered. “Laila–”

“Kush?” a voice called out. “Come dance!”

I flinched, recognizing it instantly. She glided over in her blood-red saree and grabbed his wrist. As she pulled him away, I realized with a start…he wasn’t resisting.

Sweat burned on the back of my neck, as he glanced back for a moment, hesitated, then redirected his gaze. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, leading him away from the table. They danced to the music like interlocked puzzle pieces

Something in me snapped. I turned to his glass still situated on the tablecloth. Sweeping a hand across the table, I knocked it over the edge. It fell with a shattering noise, exploding to pieces on the floor. Falling to my hands and knees, I grappled to gather the shards.

“Laila!” Kush cried, followed by the sound of rushing footsteps. Within seconds he was kneeling beside me.

“You don’t need to help,” the words spilled out of my mouth. “Keep dancing.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he hissed. “You’ll cut yourself. Let me call someone.”

“I’m fine,” my voice hardened. “Go away.”

I didn’t dare to look at him.

“Hey!” a hand grabbed my wrist as I reached at a shard. His watch glistened under the chandelier. “Laila, stop!”

I fell back on my heels as he rushed to get someone. A short distance away, her eyes on me and muttering something to her friend, stood Jahnvi. So beautiful, so immaculate.

The next fifteen minutes were a blur, with the waiters nudging me away and brooming up the glass. I muttered a hurried apology before standing up and spinning towards the door. Eyes followed me as I half-ran.

A cheer broke out through the room as the music changed. I stopped in my tracks. Jahnvi. My fists burned.

All the shared notes. The days spent tutoring her.

All the elevators I was left out of.

I spun to march towards her. Noticing me approaching, the lyrics stuck in her throat.

“Jahnvi,” My voice cracked as I stopped inches away from her. “I need to talk to you.”

She blinked, stooping to hear me through the music. “What happened?”

“I was talking to Kushagrah. You didn’t even acknowledge me or ask if you could interrupt.”

Her eyes filled with understanding. “Oh. Right. I’m so sorry Laila, it slipped my mind.”

“You didn’t notice that I was sitting right there? Didn’t you wonder where I was?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Again, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you feel left out.”

A giggle rose in my throat, tasting acidic. “You didn’t make me feel left out. Please. It’s my fault for not learning the songs, watching the movies or joining the parties.”

Her eyes scanned me up and down in confusion. My hands itched to reach forward and rub the eyeshadow out of them.

“Look, I get it. Just come dance–”

“I’d rather go home than dance with you right now.” As I turned to leave, she caught my wrist.

“Why are you getting upset? One minute we’re just fine and the next, you’re mad at me?”

I yanked my hand out of hers. “I don’t understand this reaction. You should be happy I’m finally getting out of your hair.”

Her brows arched. “What did you say?”

I moved a step closer, meeting her at eye-level. “Yes, I was distant this year. But with you, I really tried. I tutored you on weekends, did your assignments, defended you, and if you had dropped a glass, I would have stopped dancing to come help you.”

A fire ignited behind her eyes, and I walked away before she could retort. Crashing into brown fabric and a white shirt, I backed away as his chin brushed against my head.

“Are you okay?” Kush ducked to meet my eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you–” I scrambled to move past him, but he shifted to block my way.

“Hey, just listen. I heard what you said. I’m so sorry I just left.”

I returned the look, trying to pour as much resentment into it as possible. “I’m not a placeholder friend, you know. If you didn’t need me to talk to you, you could have just said so.”

“Laila, it’s not like that. I wanted to stay, I just–”

“You couldn’t? That doesn’t make it better. Find someone else to fill your time.”

I shoved him aside before he could protest, walking towards the door and out the hall.

As soon as I got home to my bedroom, I slammed the door shut, unraveled the saree around my body and flung it over my bedroom desk chair. Throwing open my closet, I dug out pajamas and rushed to change. Within minutes I collapsed onto the bed, rolling over to stare up at the ceiling, arms outstretched.

My phone rang beside my pillow. Groaning, I reached to grab it, and without checking who it was, slammed the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“You’re not a placeholder friend.”

I sat up, ignoring the jolt of pain through my head.

“How did you get my number?” I snapped.

“Asked around. I called to apologize. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you.”

“You idiot,” I hissed. “You have a girlfriend.”

“I don’t,” he sighed. “We broke up weeks ago.”

I rubbed at my temples. “But today…”

“I don’t know why I didn’t refuse, or why it took so long to push her away. But I swear, there’s nothing between us.”

The room started spinning. “What if I don’t believe you?”

“That’s too bad,” he said. “Because you forgot to take your gift-box. Open your front door.”

The phone dropped out of my hand. I leaped out of bed, tripping to reach the door beside the headrest. Evening light streaked through the living-room as I dashed past the hallway. Mom and dad were out, thankfully.

Reaching the front door, I caught myself in the mirror above the shoe-rack. Unkempt, long hair. Pimple-ridden brown skin. Flimsy white pajamas.

Placing a hand on the door knob, I shut my eyes, inhaling deeply. “Three, two, one.”

And I pulled open the door.