Maithili doesn't come to class. She never skips, not even when she's sick. I hear whispers—she's been told to bring her father to tomorrow's disciplinary meeting. I keep calling, but she keeps cutting me off. I know she hasn't gone home. She couldn't, not yet. Not before her usual time. Her father would notice. But she can't outrun it much longer.

By tomorrow, he'll know.

I can't sit through classes either. Every room feels like it's closing in on me. The cafeteria, the common room—they're war zones now, full of eyes that won't stop following me. Some are smug, smirking like they know some awful joke at my expense. Others are bitter, jealous even. But most of them just look at me like I've been publicly gutted, like I'm the victim in some tragedy they're all too happy to watch unfold.

I ask Sakshi to check the girls' bathrooms while I try every spot I can think of. The library, even though I know she wouldn't be there. Not after what happened.

I comb through the grounds, heading toward the auditorium where I once found her curled up in the farthest, darkest corner of the stage. She's not there. I'm back outside, sweat trickling down my back despite the bite of cold in the air. I yank off my sweatshirt, letting it hang loose in my hands, when my gaze drifts upward—to the rooftop.

What if she's—?

I don't finish the thought. I can't. My legs are moving before my brain catches up, taking the stairs two at a time until I burst onto the roof.

From the rooftop, everything feels off. Too quiet. Too serene. Too calm. The sky is painfully clear, like it's mocking the chaos inside me. My breath is jagged, catching on every inhale. The cityscape vibrates with a low hum, a sound that feels both distant and inside my head. My calves ache, a dull throb that reminds me how far I've come, and how much further I have to go.

I scan the campus, squinting under the sun.

And then I see her.

Under the gazebo in the garden, her small frame is perched on the bench, perfectly still. She's staring straight ahead, unmoving.

Maithili?

I dial her again. She shifts a little, just enough to let me know she heard it, but her hands stay in her lap. The phone might as well be invisible.

The number you are calling is currently not answering. You can wait or call again later.

I breathe. Quick in and out before I go to her.

She is staring ahead, but not really seeing. Her eyes look like glass beads, her face carved from stone. The only sign of life is the gentle sway of her hair in the breeze. She looks like one of those antique Japanese dolls—haunting and heartbreakingly beautiful, all at once.

I climb the steps and sit beside her. She doesn't acknowledge me, her gaze fixed on some distant point, her hands resting in her lap, her skirt neatly tucked between her legs, making it look almost like pants.

'You okay?' I ask, and the words feel foreign, as though they belong to someone else.

She doesn't flinch, doesn't look at me, doesn't even blink like she's heard me. Then, finally, she says, 'It's the worst.'

I wasn't expecting her to say she was fine, but hearing her admit it so bluntly makes something twist uncomfortably inside me.

'It'll get better,' I say, though even I'm not convinced.

She makes a non-committal sound.

'If it helps,' I add, desperate to fill the silence, 'there's only two months of school left. Then everyone will move on, forget about it.'

She doesn't respond, and I'm left scrambling for something more. 'But don't give up,' I look at her, hoping she'll look back. She doesn't. 'Don't give up on us. I'm with you.'

She smiles then. Slowly at first, and it's sharp and mocking. But it softens into something sad, something that makes her look like she's pitying herself.

'I'm naked in that video.' Her head tilts toward me, the smile still painted across her face like it's been carved there. It's unnerving, the way she bites her lower lip, holding back whatever storm is brewing beneath the surface. The smile isn't real—it's armour. 'Nobody else is in it. You were blurred.' She laughs and now there are tears in her eyes.

I swallow hard, fighting against the lump rising in my throat. 'I'm sorry—'

'He asked me who the guy is,' she says, her smile curling slowly like she wants to know how I will react.

Would I stand by her like I'd just said? Would I step forward and say, Yes, it was me, and prove that I meant every word I just spoke?

I feel hollowed out, like someone scooped a big, vital chunk from me and left me bare. Exposed. Ashamed.

'I stayed quiet.' Her voice wavers now, the smile faltering as tears spill freely down her cheeks. 'Chill,' she says with a short, broken laugh, turning her face back to the horizon, the mask firmly back in place.

'Chill!' she repeats more to herself.

Suddenly, I don't know what to do with myself. My emotions feel like they're twisting inside me, turning inward, against me.

I stand up, unable to look her in the eye again. And then I do the worst fucking thing I could've done.

I leave.