Always on his watch: Chapter 2

The girl who never gives up.

Ever since the results came out yesterday, I stayed locked up in my room. I didn't have the energy to deal with the world outside me. My heart felt heavy, I needed to get something off my chest. But I wasn't sure exactly what.

There was hurt, there was denial, and above all, there was desperation --- to free myself somehow. Run away to a place where this isn't my reality.

Downstairs, I could hear my batchmates celebrating. Of course they were—it was a day worth celebrating.

For kids like them, today marked new beginnings. For people like me, it marked the death of every possibility.

I opened my journal to go through my list of Plan Bs— a list I had once written with confidence, almost arrogance, thinking I’d never need it.

But now, every option looked hopeless. Nothing fit. Nothing could save me.

I was trapped.

For the first time in my life, I wished I had been born rich. If I were, none of this would matter.

I could rank last in my class and still be sent to the top private universities in the world without anyone batting an eye. No one would question my worth. No one would hand me a future shaped like a cage. I wouldn't have to live life like it was torture then.

'Are you done packing?' Someone knocks my door. 'Your guardians called, they will be here in two hours to pick you up.' It was our hostel warden.

'I'm almost done ma'am.' I say, my voice gone low. I still cannot fathom it.

'Get your transfer papers from the principal's office before you leave.''

''Yes ma'am.''

I hadn't started packing at all. I never imagined this could be a possibility.

But I start anyway.

I open my cupboard And start with all the awards and medals I've ever received in my time here at Vardaan. There are too many of them, big and small, each with a story of its own. A gold for the national spelling bee contest, best delegate for the Delhi inter-school MUN, and my proudest one yet, a shiny trophy for National Maths Olympiad. Well half mine, I had to share this one with Ishaan.

My god, the fuss he made over who would get to keep the trophy.

***

''I solved the hardest question in Round 3'', he’d argued, arms crossed, in pure rage.

'And I carried Round 2 entirely on my own,' I snapped back. 'You literally guessed one of the answers. Don’t act like it was strategy.'

We were still standing on the stage, cameras flashing, while our poor coordinator awkwardly held the trophy between us like a referee in a boxing ring.

'Fine, whatever' he repulsed, his ears turning slightly red. 'Let's just decide over stone paper scissors.'

I stared at him in utter disbelief. 'Seriously, what are you? Five?' I rolled my eyes, but I knew he was serious.

We played.

I threw out paper. He went with rock.

“Ha!” I said, grinning. “That settles it.”

He blinked, stunned. Then immediately shook his head. “Best of three. Everyone knows it’s best of three.”

I scoffed. “Huh! You just made that up.”

“No, I didn’t. That’s the international rule of stone-paper-scissors.”

I sighed and held my hand out. Fine. Let the baby have his round.

Round two—paper vs his scissors. He got his first win somehow. and he celebrated it like it was the Olympics.

'We still have one more round to go.' I reminded him.

Round three—rock vs his scissors. Victory. Mine.

I grinned like I was the devil. “Three-nil. You sure you want to go best of seven?”

His jaw tightened, head still high. “No. Real champions go for five points. Everyone knows that.”

I burst out laughing. “You’re unbelievable.”

He lost again. Twice.

When I won the fifth point, he just stood there, hands on his hips, absolutely scandalised by the betrayal of probability.

“I was going easy on you,” he muttered, sulking like a kid who just dropped his ice cream.

“Sure,” I said, patting his shoulder with mock sympathy. “You're very generous like that.”

He glared. “This was rigged.”

But I paid no heed to his tantrums.

For the course of the next three months, he only had one job. To annoy me with, 'Are you taking great care of our baby? Tell baby that daddy misses him so much.'

I would try my best to not smile, just as I'm doing right now.

***

I shift my focus back to packing. I’m almost done. I never had a lot of stuff to begin with—just the essentials, a few books, and dreams I thought I could fit into a single suitcase. I glance back at the trophy, it's way too huge for me to carry back home anyways--- and honestly, I don’t think it would survive the bumpy ride back to a place where no one cares about it.

So I call the hostel staff and ask them to move it to Ishaan’s room.

As I watch them carry our baby away, something twists in my chest.

I won't ever get to see Ishaan again either, not that it matters a lot, but I've burned a significant amount of my blood on him and his stupid antiques. Chances are, I will miss that.

As much as it kills me to admit it, because up until now, criticising Vardaan used to be my personality, hating the school for its ridiculous display of wealth was a part of my daily schedule, there's so much about this place I'd miss. It gave me a life that was mine to live.

The next task was to collect my transfer letter from the principal’s office. I mustered up every ounce of courage I had to leave my room. I knew the corridors would be full—of people, of questions, of judgmental stares.

How did the girl who once threatened Ishaan Arora’s top rank not make it?

I could already hear the whispers. Some pitying, some smug, some pretending not to care but watching anyway. The walk from my room to the office wasn’t long, but today it felt like a runway of shame.

"I heard she was some small-town prodigy or whatever. Clearly doesn’t hold up here." I could easily identify Prerna, our student council speaker's voice in the crowd..

"Ugh, I hate how much pressure these toppers put on themselves. So sad." The girl beside her spoke up.

I kept my eyes ahead. and head low. I shouldn't care about what they have to say. These girls had no significant achievements in their lives, so making people feel small about where they come from was the only way for them to feel good about themselves.

I arrived at the principal office. I knocked twice, then stepped in.

Principal Mehra looked up from his desk and offered me a gentle smile.

"Ah, Megha. Come in. Sit down."

I braced myself, trying to keep my expression neutral. I didn’t want sympathy. I just wanted to get the letter and leave.

But instead of reaching for the transfer letter, he pulled out a sealed envelope.

"I know this isn't how you imagined your year ending," he said. "But I want you to know, none of us—none of your teachers—define you by one setback."

He slid the envelope across the desk.

"This is a letter of recommendation," he said.

"It’s from all your subject teachers. Ms. Rao, your English teacher, she convinced them all to write it together. Wherever you go, this will open doors for you."

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. I just stared at it—this neat, sealed envelope that somehow felt heavier than it looked.

"You’re one of the brightest students we've had," he continued. "Hardworking. Sharp. Resilient. Don't let this moment rewrite everything you’ve built."

I finally reached for the envelope, still wordless. My throat felt tight in a way I hadn’t expected.

"Thank you," I managed, quietly.

He nodded. "I mean it, Megha. Whatever comes next—you’ll be more than fine. You'll thrive."

I tucked the envelope into my bag like it was made of glass. Then he handed me the transfer letter, and I stood to leave.

The halls outside were still waiting—still loud, still messy. But something about that envelope in my bag made it all feel just a little quieter.

I return back to my room.

I bump into a half-used packet of cat food and pause.

Coco.

A tiny part of me lifts at the thought.

Coco was a stray—orange, fluffy, and far too dramatic for a street cat. She’d shown up outside the hostel a year ago, yowling like she owned the place. I had started feeding her one evening out of guilt, and then… never stopped. She had this annoying habit of pretending not to know me during the day, but showing up at exactly 8 p.m. like clockwork, demanding her dinner.

I glance at the clock. 5:20 p.m.

She wouldn’t be here yet.

I sigh. Uncle could show up any minute now, and he would be mad if I even cause a minute's delay .

I kneel down, sliding the cat food back under the bed, but it would’ve been nice to see her one last time.

To say goodbye, even if it’s just to a cat who never really belonged to anyone.

And then I hear it. A meow. An irritated one.

I jump from the floor towards my window in an instant, pushing the curtains aside. There she was, my Coco. Sitting near the basketball court, swishing her tail, telling me to make haste.

I waste no time in running downstairs with the cat food.

“Coco!” I whisper-yell as I approach her.

She lets out another demanding meow, clearly unimpressed by my delay.

I drop to my knees on the court and pour out some food on the spot she always claimed as hers. She purrs immediately, brushing against my hand before settling down to eat.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding and stroke her back, memorising the softness of it.

“I thought I wouldn’t get to see you again,” I murmur. “I was about to leave without saying goodbye, you little traitor.”

She looks up briefly and blinks, as if to say you’re being dramatic—and honestly, she might be right.

For a moment, the world slows down. No bus tickets, no scholarship heartbreak, no uncles dragging me back to a life I never chose.

Just me, Coco, and the place I loved to hate. Because it was mine.

That’s when I hear footsteps.

Rhythmic. Purposeful. Jogger-like.

I tilt back to see.

Ishaan. Obviously.

“Wow,” he says, pretending to be out of breath, “I go for one jog and suddenly the universe gives me the cutest farewell scene.”

I turn my head slowly, narrowing my eyes.

He’s in his grey puma joggers, hoodie slightly too perfectly tucked in for someone who had been 'jogging'.

“You jog in the girls’ hostel lane now?”

“Fine,” he drops the act, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Thank you for returning my abducted child. She’ll need therapy, but we’ll manage.”

I scoff. He can never just be serious.

''Is that the fat cat that steals fish from the cafeteria?'' He raised his fingers in Coco's direction.

''Look at you, body-shaming a literal cat.'' I complained, petting Coco.

He sits on the stairs near the court, not far from me.

“So… leaving today?” he asks after a pause. I almost feel his voice soften.

“Yeah… looks like it.”

I press my lips together. The silence that follows isn’t hostile. Just awkward—like both of us are aware there’s more to say, but neither of us dares to.

'It just feels so weird, all this. I always thought you’d be the last one standing. You were... unstoppable.'

I let out a small chuckle. It hurts when he says it like that.

Because I was. I was the girl who didn’t knew how to give up, until I wasn’t.

'Megha I...I don't really know what to say, I don't understand...'

I don't want him to say something that would make leaving this place harder than it already is. So I cut him off.

'Oh my god! I'm so caught up with myself that I totally forgot to congratulate you. You deserve it, you really do.'

''The second place?” He scoffs, looking at the side.

''I meant going to the NCU.''

''So do you.''

He says it instantly—like we’re still mid-debate. I bite my lower lip.

“If you need anything…” he starts, a little hesitantly, “Anything at all, just know I’ll be there. You have my number, right?”

I manage a smile. “Hey, I’m moving back to my hometown, not Afghanistan.”

“I’ll be staying with my family. I’ll be okay. In fact,” I shrug lightly, “don’t you think it’ll be great for me to finally slow down? Maybe breathe a little.”

He doesn’t smile back, not quite. But there’s something in his eyes—something quietly insistent.

“I just know,” he says, “that wherever you are… people like you always rise. NCU or not. You’ll find your way. You’ll make it.”

I let out a tired chuckle. “Why are you suddenly being so nice?”

He shrugs. “I admit it—I haven’t exactly let you live a peaceful life these past few years. But I don’t think I’ve ever been not nice.”

“Spoken like a true jerk,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Hey! What did I even do?” he says, clearly taking offense.

I raise an eyebrow. “Do you suddenly have amnesia now? Because I remember very clearly that you deflated my cycle's tyre right after my AICET exam.”

His eyes widen. “Wait—you still think that was on purpose?”

I blink. “Are you seriously about to deny it now?”

“No! I mean—yes, I did it. But not like that, not to mess with you—okay, just listen—”

He’s flustered, talking too fast now, hands gesturing like he’s trying to rewind a memory.

“I saw you that morning,” he says, voice dropping a little. “You were cycling to the exam centre...'

“Megha!”

My uncle’s voice slices through the moment like a blunt knife.

“Are we leaving today or should I book a hotel?”

''Coming Badepapa.'' I yell back.

Perfect timing.

I turn my head slowly, throat suddenly dry.

'I have to go.' I somehow manage to say.

Ishaan blinks, jaw still half-open, as if the words he didn’t get to say are stuck mid-air between us.

I look up at Ishaan, I almost see a hint of sadness in his eyes, after all it's not easy to let go of your biggest rival.

''Do you think your parents can change their mind? I mean, there are just four months left in the last semester...''

I shook my head in a No. I never imagined Ishaan Arora, the guy who was so rude to me on my first day at school, would be standing in front of sulking like a baby.

'Look it doesn't matters anymore, I didn't get in and there's that. Do not feel bad for me, Thanks to you at least I have a few memories to look back and laugh at.'

He gives me a smile, a genuine one.

'It was fun competing with you.' He extends his arm for a hand shake and I take it.

We just stand there for a second—two people who were never really friends, but always more than strangers.

Goodbye, Ishaan.”

“Bye, Megha.”

“MEGHA, HURRY UP!”

I flinch as my uncle’s voice cuts through the air.

I gently slip my hand from Ishaan’s and turn away, walking quickly toward the hostel gates.

I can feel his gaze on my back, but I don’t look back.

I don’t think I can.

This is it.

This is where everything ends.

Uncle loads my suitcase into the car without a word. I pause for a second, taking in the campus one last time. The walls, the trees, the sky—like I’m trying to trap every detail inside my memory, to carry them with me.

The car pulls away, slow at first. I keep my eyes fixed on Vardaan.

There’s a burning in my throat. I beg the tears to come—hoping they’ll release whatever’s clawing at my chest.

But they don’t.

They never do.

I watch until the gate, the bricks, the lights—all of it—shrinks into a dot.

And then, disappears.