(Story)
Madam Principal made the announcement during Monday’s morning assembly.
“The winner of the Young Writers Competition is Ananya Reddy from Class 7B for her short story ‘The Deer and the Rabbit.'”
The indoor auditorium echoed with applause but Meera’s hands clenched into fists beside her.
The Deer and the Rabbit.
The story Ajji used to tell her every night, as she braided Meera’s hair. No matter how many stories Ajji told her, Meera had always begged for a repeat of this particular tale.
It was a simple story, about two best friends, a deer and a rabbit. They shared everything. One day the deer found a sweet strawberry bush and told the rabbit about it. Both promised to eat only half and share the other half. But the rabbit soon realized it was faster. Starting then, the rabbit hopped quickly to arrive first, and ate the berries. The deer grew sad because it could only eat the leaves. One day a tiger saw the deer and the rabbit.
Hungry, the tiger gave chase. Both the rabbit and the deer ran for their lives. The deer was agile and fast but the rabbit, heavy from eating too many berries, couldn’t run fast enough. The deer, always a true friend, easily distracted the tiger with its quick moves and saved the rabbit’s life. The rabbit realized its mistake and the two became friends again. From then on, both shared equally, and stayed safe and happy.
Six months ago, as Meera wept at her Ajji’s funeral, Ananya had hugged Meera tight. She had told Ananya the story then, and all the memories that came flooding back with it.
Now Ananya stood on the stage, holding a certificate, smiling as Madam Principal praised her “extraordinary imagination and moral depth.”
“Meera?” Zara nudged her behind “Why aren’t you clapping? It’s Ananya. Don’t tell me you’re jealous!”
Meera wasn’t jealous. She was hurt. But Ananya was still her friend and telling on friends was wrong. So, even as tears pricked her eyes and her hands felt heavy, Meera slowly started clapping.
After the assembly dispersed, Meera quickly made her way to her classroom, avoiding Ananya’s excited waves from the stage.
“Shared, yes. Stolen, no.” Meera’s throat felt tight. “You didn’t ask me. You just took it and put your name on it and now everyone thinks you made it up.”
A couple of hours past and it was time for lunch.. Meera had always waited for lunch break, to get some time with Ananya ever since they were put into separate sections. Today, Meera sucked in a breath as Ananya hollered in.
“Meeraaa! Can you believe it! I won! I actually won!” Ananya gasped, bouncing with excitement. “It’ll be published in the upcoming anthology and I’ll get to read it at the district literary festival and—oh is that your Amma’s Sambar Rice? What a treat!” Ananya said as she scooped a spoonful from Meera’s tiffin box. “You have to tell me what she puts in it to make it so perfect!”
“Why? So you could publish it as your own recipe?” Meera snapped.
“What? What’s wrong Meera? Are you upset with me?”
“Am I upset, am I—!” Meera got red in the face as she stood up, tugging on Ananya’s hands to walk towards the secluded washrooms on the far end of the hallway.
“Yes, I’m upset. Because my best friend is a thief.” Meera finally let out, making sure no one but Ananya could hear her.
Ananya’s dimpled smile that had morphed into confusion as dragged across the hallway, was now marred with hurt.
Also Read: New Year Resolutions: A Kintsugi Paradox
“A thief? What did I steal? Is this about your fountain pen? I told you I can’t find it at home. I’ll look for it again. I promise I’ll buy you a new one if I can’—”
“This isn’t about some stupid pen. It’s about the story. Ajji’s story. How could you?!” Meera yelled, trying to keep her voice low.
“Meera…., the deadline was nearing and I couldn’t find any ideas on the theme, ‘Stories That Teach Us’ and I thought—”
“Thought what?” Meera’s voice rose. “That you could just… take Ajji’s story? That it was yours now?”
“I didn’t take it or steal it! I… I wrote it down properly, with descriptions and dialogue and everything. I made it into a real story—”.
“It was already a real story! It was Ajji’s story! The one she told me. The one I told you.”
Ananya’s eyes widened. “But Meera, I thought—you said storytelling was about passing stories on. You said Ajji believed stories should be shared—”
“Shared, yes. Stolen, no.” Meera’s throat felt tight. “You didn’t ask me. You just took it and put your name on it and now everyone thinks you made it up.”
“I should have asked,” Ananya said, her voice smaller now. “I know I should have. But Meera, I can explain—”
“Then explain.”
Ananya took a shaky breath. “You know how I’m not good at anything? Not like you—you have tabla, you’re amazing at art, you always know the right things to say. I’m just… ordinary. But when you told me that story, something clicked. I realized—I could write. I could take a story and make it beautiful on paper. And the competition came up and I thought—this is my chance. One thing I can be good at.”
“So you used my grief to make yourself look good?”
“The rabbit in the story. You found something you’re good at and used it to take more than your share. You ate all the berries and left me with nothing.”
“No! I mean—” Ananya’s voice cracked. “I wasn’t thinking about it like that. I was just thinking—this is a beautiful story. I can write it well. I can make people understand why it matters. I thought I was honoring Ajji’s memory, not stealing from it.”
“You were being like the rabbit,” Meera said flatly.
Ananya blinked. “What?”
“The rabbit in the story. You found something you’re good at and used it to take more than your share. You ate all the berries and left me with nothing.”
Ananya’s face crumpled. “Meera, I’m so sorry—”
“Sorry doesn’t fix it. I won’t tell anyone but I can’t be your friend anymore.”
Meera walked away, leaving Ananya standing there with tears starting to spill down her cheeks.
For three days, Ananya was the school celebrity.
Teachers congratulated her in the corridors. The principal gave her example to showcase the school’s competence. Other students asked for her autograph, half-joking but half-serious.
Also Read: Of Two Worlds: The Collateral of War
Meera felt hollow throughout it all. Most of her classmates thought she was envious of Ananya, considering the significant rift that had become obvious between the two girls that once were joined at the hip. Even a few teachers questioned their sudden separation, as did her parents who seemed surprised when she told them Ananya won’t be showing up for their weekly sleepover.
She kept her promise. She didn’t tell anyone about the story. What would she even say? That’s my dead grandmother’s story? It sounded petty. Jealous. Small.
But it felt heavy, like the last piece of Ajji had been stolen from her and polished up for someone else’s trophy shelf.
On Thursday afternoon, everything changed.
Photos Generated by AI
To Be Continued…
Ishani is currently a student at Jogamaya Devi College. Having always had a passion for writing, she wishes to pursue it as a career in the future. Her interest in writing stems from countless hours of reading books of all genres, with a particular appeal to high fantasy and thrillers.
