Chapter 7: First Day at School
1133 Words
Roshni’s POV
The morning air was cooler than expected. Thin rays of sunlight spilled across the room, catching on the dust hanging midair like floating threads. Roshni stood in front of the cracked mirror, twisting the corner of her dupatta in her fingers. Her uniform still fit, but everything else about her felt different.
She was a wife now. That word still hadn’t settled in her chest properly.
Behind her, Rahat was slouched on the edge of the bed, pretending to be too sleepy to move. She turned and glared. “Get up.”
He didn’t budge.
“Rahat.”
“Mhm.”
“We’re going to school today. Both of us.”
He finally lifted his head and gave her a slow, half-awake look. “Do we really have to? Just today—let’s not. I’m not emotionally prepared to be stared at by two hundred kids with judgmental eyebrows.”
She crossed her arms. “And what? You’ll sit home and eat cup noodles for lunch?”
“That sounds ideal, actually.”
She threw a towel at his face. “Get up, brush your teeth, and wear something ironed, or I swear I’ll drag you to school in your pajamas.”
He groaned but stood up reluctantly.
Roshni busied herself packing their books. A pang of nervousness hit her when she thought of school. It wasn’t just the staring. Her parents had called nearly everyone. Her friend Nayeema had texted at least twenty times. Some had even called her cousin. Word had probably spread.
But what else could she do? She had made her choice. Rahat wasn’t just someone she liked — he was now her partner. Even if people whispered, even if teachers raised eyebrows — she wouldn't hide.
Not anymore.
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Rahat’s POV
The first few minutes of brushing his teeth were done in a trance. His back ached, his brain was foggy, and his face still felt swollen from sleep.
The toothbrush Roshni had used earlier lay on the edge of the sink. She had apologized for borrowing his. It should’ve grossed him out, but it didn’t. Instead, it felt like indirect kiss.
(Hold on! They were married but didn't even kiss each other!!)
By the time they stepped out into the morning rush of the street, his mind was racing. His tie was too tight, and the buttons on his shirt didn’t align properly. Roshni, as usual, looked too perfect to be believable.
They took a rickshaw. She sat beside him, unusually quiet. Her fingers played with the hem of her sleeve. He wanted to say something, anything — but his throat felt blocked. How were they going to act normal?
School gates loomed ahead.
They stepped inside together. It was like time paused for a moment.
Eyes turned. Conversations faltered. Some whispered. Some stared openly.
They walked side by side through the courtyard, Rahat tugging at his old backpack strap and Roshni trying to walk like nothing had changed. But everything had.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Shoma — the girl who always spoke too loud and acted as if knew everything about everyone — nudging her friend and whispering way too obviously, “Since when did they start walking together?”
Roshni’s stomach twisted. She kept her chin up but could feel the stares digging into her back.
Inside the hallway, Nayeema was waiting for her. Arms crossed, lips pursed, eyes sharp. The moment Roshni stepped in, Nayeema stormed up, not even pretending to be casual.
“Where the hell were you?” she hissed. “Your mom called my dad! Everyone’s been freaking out!”
Roshni blinked, as if she didn’t hear her right away. “I was… out.”
“Out where? Roshni, your phone’s been off. You vanished.”
Rahat stood awkwardly behind her, trying to shrink into the background.
Nayeema’s eyes bounced between them, narrowing. “Wait—why are you with him? What’s going on?”
Roshni opened her mouth, closed it. Her lips pressed into a line. The hallway buzzed around them — laughter, footsteps, the occasional slamming locker. But everything felt muffled.
She took a deep breath. Then exhaled like she was ripping off a band-aid.
“I got married,” she said softly. No drama. Just… tired honesty.
Nayeema blinked. “You—what?”
“To him,” Roshni added after a pause, nodding slightly toward Rahat.
Rahat gave the weakest smile of his life, like he was about to apologize for something he didn’t fully understand.
Nayeema stared. “No. No way. Him?”
“We’ve been… together for a while,” Roshni said quickly, and her voice — surprisingly — didn’t shake. “A year, actually.”
Rahat looked uncomfortable.
But she didn’t flinch. She just stood there, as if daring anyone to question her choices. And maybe, just maybe, she
was trying to convince herself, too.
Behind them, a few boys caught on to the conversation. Farhan, the guy who always wore his shirt unbuttoned halfway, let out a mock gasp. “isn't it Mr. Husband? I was sure you two would be too tired to come school today!”
Asif joined in, grinning like a devil. “Okay, I gotta ask—did you two sleep in the same bed last night, or did our boy Rahat sleep on the floor?”
“Shut up,” Rahat mumbled, pulling his bag higher over his shoulder.
“Don't pretend, bro. You look like you haven’t slept all night,” Farhan teased.
“Must’ve been wild,” another chimed in.
One of the quieter boys in the back — Iqbal — muttered, “I still don’t believe it. Roshni? Married to Rahat? Are we sure this isn’t a prank?”
In front of her friends Roshni stepped closer to Rahat, sliding her hand subtly near his wrist. “Believe it. I’m his wife now.”
The word "wife" shut a few mouths.
Some boys laughed awkwardly. Others looked away, clearly not knowing how to process it. A few girls exchanged whispers, their glances sharp. The nerdy girl in the class, Tisha, looked visibly uncomfortable. She tried to approach Rahat once during a group project — now she didn’t even meet his eyes.
A teacher entered. The murmurs died down.
Roshni quietly took a seat in the front row, pulling out her books. Her posture was perfect, her eyes glued to the board.
Rahat sat a few rows behind her, beside the window.
He didn’t take notes.
He just looked at her back, at the way her hair fell over her shoulder, at how she didn’t flinch despite everyone watching her.
She wasn’t hiding.
And for the first time in his life, Rahat realized something—
He wanted to be better
- Writer
