Chapter 4: The Weight of Family
704 Words
Jayant, Priya’s younger brother, was in Class 8—fair-skinned, chubby, and stubbornly short despite his appetite. Though Priya herself was thin and sallow, she had shot up in height, now towering over him by a full head.
When Jayant blocked her path, she gripped his shoulders and moved him aside like furniture. He landed on his backside with a thud.
"Wha—?!"
She shut her bedroom door and locked it before he could react.
Jayant scrambled up, pounding on the wood. "How dare you push me! Open up! Stop hiding!" His voice climbed to a whine. "No more pocket money for you! Let’s see how you’ll bribe your classmates then!"
When Priya had been born—the unwanted third daughter—her grandmother and father had reportedly considered smothering her. Only the hospital records had stopped them.
Her role in the Kapoor household was clear: serve Jayant. Wash his clothes, eat his leftovers, endure his kicks without complaint.
And the money she used to buy candies for classmates? Handouts from Jayant—rewards for her servitude.
Pathetic.
Within one day, Priya was already plotting her escape.
Grandmother’s Wrath
Dadi, elbow-deep in dishwater, rushed out at Jayant’s wails. "She pushed you?!" She hammered on Priya’s door. "Come out this instant! How dare you lay hands on your brother? All that school fees wasted on you!"
Priya rolled toilet paper into earplugs.
Jayant kicked the door. "My shoes! She didn’t wash them!"
"She’ll clean them later," Dadi soothed, then hissed at the door, "Spoiled brat! Who do you think you are?"
"He kicked me first," Priya said, emerging to brush her teeth.
Dadi scoffed. "He’s just a child! What’s a little kick?"
Try getting stomped by a 60-kg "child," Priya thought, rinsing her mouth.
As she retreated, Dadi’s mutters chased her: "Ungrateful girl... no respect... just like her mother..."
Midnight Drama
Priya, a former university topper, reviewed her Class 11 syllabus with ease. By 11 PM, she was asleep—unaware that Dadi had stayed up, lying in wait for her parents.
When Ma and Papa returned from the eatery, Dadi pounced. "Your daughter attacked Jayant! Ruined his new shoes!"
Papa, already furious, marched toward Priya’s room.
Ma—though no fan of Priya—blocked him. "Jayant has school tomorrow. Let him sleep."
Dadi’s glare could’ve melted steel.
A New Morning
At 6 AM, Priya tiptoed past snoring relatives. She swiped a Milk Vita tetra pack from the fridge and left.
Her school canteen card had ₹80 left. She bought poha, a boiled egg, and chai—this malnourished body needed fuel.
On the way to class, she spotted Arjun Malhotra and his friends.
The boys nudged each other. "Look, it’s your admirer," one teased.
Arjun grimaced. "Shut up."
Another mimed a swoon. "Oh, Arjun! What a coincidence! Want some—"
"Disgusting," Arjun snapped, kicking him.
Their laughter faded as Priya—oblivious—walked faster.
Classroom Politics
During English reading, Priya turned to her deskmate. "Which unit’s the dictation from?"
The girl pretended not to hear, angling her body away.
Ah. The silent treatment.
Priya shrugged. She’d aced IELTS in her past life—high school English was child’s play. Flipping to Unit 1, she began revising.
Her deskmate smirked. Clueless. Probably waiting to cheat later.
When Mr. Sharma stormed in, he zeroed in on Rahul Mehta—scribbling answers on his desk.
"Rahul’s row—up to the board! Now!"
Priya’s row trudged up. The blackboard was cramped; students elbowed for space near the "smart kids." Priya got shunted to the edge.
Mr. Sharma dictated 15 words—then threw in 7 old ones for spite.
Her deskmate panicked at "entrepreneur." Priya resisted the urge to whisper It’s spelled with a ‘u.’
Sweet Victory
As Mr. Sharma checked:
Deskmate: 1 wrong
Others: 3–5 wrong
Rahul: 14 wrong
"Rahul!" Mr. Sharma thundered. "Is your head filled with sawdust?"
Rahul’s ears burned as the class snickered.
Then the teacher reached Priya’s section.
Her words were flawless—each letter crisp.
Mr. Sharma’s eyebrows shot up. "Excellent! Full marks, Priya!"
Her deskmate’s jaw dropped.
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