Now my class was changed and I was also put in A section and was very happy because there was unity in that class and everyone liked me. Here all the boys and girls used to play together and I got many good friends here, even the boys
And from here starts a new turn of my life.
This is that class where the boys and girls made me a fool and taught me abuses and would not even hit my friends on the ass from behind.
Seriously, I had started watching porn in the 6th class. For the first time I saw it and mamma was outside on an evening walk and was drenched in sweat because the other aunties also could not see that we were not getting tired quickly
And I, her daughter, was getting completely wet seeing the other's dick here. At that time I was completely unable to understand what to do with this feeling. I was so wet with this feeling that while walking there was a chipping sound.
---
This is how I kept getting involved in such mischievous and wild things. But back then, I had no idea about things like fingering or rubbing.
They say good times don't last forever—well, the same happened to me. A few months later, my posting came through, and I had to move to Bareilly, UP. Saying goodbye to the amazing friends I had made was heartbreaking. Even now, I miss that place so much.
And then came a new chapter—my life in UP.
I lived in a civil society because my parents didn't like Air Force quarters. That's why I used to cycle to school every day. The moment I entered 7th grade, things started to get interesting. Within a week, I had already shaken things up—so much so that even the class monitor was jealous. But honestly? I didn't give a damn. I knew how to talk to people, how to hold my ground.
What I didn't know, however, was that girls here didn't talk to boys. And then there was me—who only talked to boys. Of course, people had a lot to say about that. They gossiped behind my back, whispered rumors, and even said, "She should've been born a boy."
But I? I just smiled and kept moving forward.
:
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One week later, I became the class monitor.
I had won over all the teachers, and life was set.
I still remember that before I started cycling to school, I used to go by van. And in that van, there was this one boy—an Army School kid. Fair-skinned, a little chubby, and those greenish-hazel eyes… yeah, he was my crush.
Seriously, I used to wait for him—just so we could get a few minutes to talk. But guess when we actually started talking? During our final exams in 7th grade. And even then, our exam dates were different.
Before that, I had spent months sitting in silence like an idiot in the van, too shy to say a word. But I still remember our last conversation. We were laughing so much that day. And just as I got down from the van,
he asked, "Will you come to school tomorrow?"
I smiled and said, "Yes." Then I started walking home.
But just then, our driver uncle teased him out loud, :-
"Ohooo, look at him asking if she'll come tomorrow or not. Something's fishy here!"
Hearing that, I sprinted home like my life depended on it.
But the next day? It never came.
I never saw him again. I kept waiting in the van, staring at his school's gate, hoping he'd show up. But he never did.
Not that I had much time to stay heartbroken—because soon, COVID-19 hit. And then came two years of vacations, TV, phone, and doing absolutely nothing.
This is when my hormones woke up, my screaming at home increased, and, of course, so did the beatings from my parents. But by then, I had already become fearless.
---
I was shattered when I found out that I had to go to school to give my 9th-grade finals.
It's not like I hadn't studied. In fact, I had studied my ass off—but only for Math. I hadn't even touched the first page of any other subject. It was just Math, Math, and only Math. I spent my days in coaching, banging my head against numbers.
But my coaching teacher? A total weirdo.
A 60-year-old man, never married, and with eyes that always looked creepy. But I ignored it. I had bigger problems.
My mind was so unstable that I couldn't even write down the right questions properly. Even when I did, my wrong calculations somehow got the right answers. And when my teacher saw that, he straight-up said:
"You'll never achieve anything. At best, you'll get a ₹60,000 job and do that for the rest of your life."
That broke me. I burst into tears.
And for the first time, he tried to comfort me.
Of course, my Math was weak, and instead of teaching me from my class books, he made me solve higher-level Math that my brain couldn't even process.
But still, I managed to get 70% in 9th grade. And I was devastated.
Because for the first time in my life, my marks were so low.
And my parents? They were furious.
They started talking about marriage, sending me to the village, and other nonsense. Hearing all that made my head explode.
I was slipping into depression.
The worst part? No one even asked if I was okay.
I had studied so much, but my family never checked in. Never asked, "Are you understanding anything? Do you need help?" They just saw the final numbers and judged me.
And honestly? After seeing my result, I wanted to crash my cycle into a truck and end it all.
I just couldn't face the shame of such low marks.
******