2.1 | Vishal and Layla

messing with your rival 101

Vishal and Layla are not your usual rivals. They are not the type to be positioned at the far ends of the classroom and send daggers at each other. Or the kind to secretly write threats and hate letters to each other. Vishal and Layla, although enemies, are a package. They sit together, snoop around in each other’s bag, keep an eye on every action the other does and openly taunt and curse each other.

That also means they eat together.

Watching Layla stand in the queue to get lunch without Vishal behind her finding something to complain about is so unnatural. Vishal rarely takes an off from school. But today, it's different.

August 28th. The day his elder brother passed away from dengue eleven years ago.

I'm sure the only ones who know this are Layla and me. Layla because their families are close and me because I play table tennis with Vishal every Wednesday and Friday and it came up in conversation one day.

But what only I know and Layla doesn't is that, Vishal carries with him a certain guilt. He is guilty that he can't remember his brother enough to mourn him. He is guilty of not doing better. Every August 28th, Vishal feels like he is pressured to feel the loss of a person he barely knows. When his whole family reminisces about his elder brother and sheds tears, he can't relate to it. And it feels wrong not to because it's his brother. He is ashamed and feels like he is stone-hearted. But no matter how many times I've reminded him it isn't his fault that he doesn't feel the loss, Vishal is haunted by it.

Sad pasts aside, I watch Layla fill up her plate with her usual — rice, curd and an equal half portion of vegetables. She heads towards the classroom but before that, Omesh, a 12th grader, interrupts her. Omesh is an asshole and Vishal shit-talks about him a lot during their evening games. It is odd that out of all days to approach Layla, Omesh picks the day Vishal is absent.

Layla frowns and nods before leaving her plate on her table. Her french-braid swings from side to side over her back when she walks to the space behind the classroom. I quickly head straight into the classroom and press myself against the window, which is as good as me being a direct participant in the conversation.

"Hey, Layla."

"Um, hi?" The confusion is evident in Layla's voice. "What did you want to speak to me about?"

"Okay, I'll get straight to the point. I need you to sabotage Vishal's efforts to bag the overall sports championship award this year."

"Why?"

"Because I need it, Layla. This is my last year in this school. Vishal has two more years. He can win it then. This is my only chance. I need to lift the trophy this time," Omesh says. There is an urgency in his voice.

"And why do you think I would help you?"

He lets out a crisp laugh. "Oh, come on, Layla. The whole school knows you sabotage each other to win. This is going to be no different."

"That's where you're wrong. There is a difference. Here, I am not the one winning. You are."

"So you won't do it?"

Shoes scratch at the gravel. Layla steps forward towards Omesh. "Even if this benefits me in any way, I won't do it. I can't be your puppet and do your bidding. I don't work that way. Sorry to disappoint."

Omesh takes a step back and shrugs. "Fine. If not you, I'll find someone else. Or I'll do it myself."

Layla clicks her tongue, shaking her head. "I know you are my senior and I should treat you with respect and all that, but aren't you ashamed that you aren't even trying to beat him fair and square? Does Vishal scare you that much?"

"Don't push it, Layla."

"You don't push it. Let the championship go unless you plan to win it fairly. Because if you mess with him, I'll mess with you. And I have plenty of dirty tricks up my sleeve."

Omesh scoffs. "Why do you care? I thought you hate him."

"Oh, I do," Layla says, smiling,"but Vishal is mine to mess with, not yours."