Riya woke up to her phone buzzing like an angry wasp.
Seventeen messages. Three missed calls. A video notification from the school WhatsApp group.
She squinted at the screen, brain still foggy from sleep.
Megha: OMG YOU'RE VIRAL
Varun: Didi check the group chat NOW
Random classmate: Riya you're literally famous
She sat up. Opened the group. And there it was—a shaky video of her talent show performance, already at 143 views and climbing. Someone had posted it with the caption: "Our school's comedy queen 👑🔥"
Comments poured in:
"She ATE that stage"
"The 'I take up space' line >>> everything"
"Riya Sharma said what we all needed to hear"
"Wait she's actually funny lol"
Riya stared at her phone. Her stomach did a weird flip—half pride, half nausea.
Dear Lunch Box,
I thought winning would feel different. Like, lighter? But now everyone's watching and I don't know how to be the girl who said those things on stage AND the girl who just wants to eat chips in peace.
Also someone called me "inspirational" and I wanted to throw my phone out the window.
Is this what I wanted? I don't even know anymore.
—
---
Walking into school felt different.
People stared. Not whispers—direct stares. Some smiled. Some waved. A girl from the junior class stopped her in the hallway: "Can I get a picture with you?"
Riya blinked. "Why?"
"You're like, famous now!" Megha said in surprised.
"I'm literally just a person who ate samosas and talked."
But the girl was already pulling out her phone.
Megha appeared out of nowhere, linking arms with Riya. "You're a LEGEND!"
Varun grinned from behind. "Yeah, that's my cousin. She's basically a celebrity."
But Riya felt like she was watching herself from outside her body. This wasn't her. Or was it? She didn't know anymore.
---
At lunch, Naina appeared at their table.
Not passing by. Actually stopping.
"Must be nice," she said, voice sharp. "Getting applause for being... loud."
Riya opened her mouth to fire back, but something in Naina's face stopped her. She didn't look smug. She looked hurt.
"Naina—"
But Naina was already walking away.
Megha rolled her eyes. "She's just jealous."
"I know , but,..." Riya said quietly. But it didn't feel like winning.
---
After school, Kabir found her sitting behind the library, earbuds in but no music playing.
"Noise canceling, huh?" he said gently.
"More like world canceling," she muttered.
He sat down beside her, pulling out a folded page from his sketchbook. A drawing of two suns sharing one sky.
She frowned. "There's supposed to be one sun."
"Not when both shine differently," he said. "You and Naina—you're not competing, you're coexisting."
She smiled. "You sound like an Instagram quote."
He shrugged. "Maybe. But it's still true."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. The world buzzed around them—students shouting, birds chirping, the distant hum of traffic.
"You know what's weird?" Riya said finally.
"What?"
"I thought being seen would feel like power. But it just feels like... being watched."
Kabir nodded. "That's because there's a difference. Being seen means someone understands you. Being watched means they're just looking."
She turned to him. "Which one do you do?"
"See you," he said simply. "Always have."
Her throat tightened. She looked away before he could notice.
---
That night at dinner, her mom kept glancing at her like she was trying to solve a puzzle.
"That speech you gave, beta... it was very... bold."
"Is that bad?"
"No, no. Just... unexpected."
Mr. Sharma finally spoke up. "I am proud of you. " Everyone stopped eating.
"What?" Riya blinked.
"I said I am proud. You stood up there and you were... yourself. That takes courage."
Riya's throat tightened. Her dad never said stuff like this.
Then Varun ruined it: "Yeah, but did you see Naina's face? She looked like she swallowed a lemon!"
Mrs. Sharma sighed. "Varun, don't be mean."
But Riya wasn't laughing. Because Naina's face did look like that. And it didn't feel like winning. It felt like loss.
---
The next morning, Riya's at her locker when someone taps her shoulder.
Naina:"Can we talk?"
Riya's immediately defensive. "If you're here to—"
"I'm not." Naina looks uncomfortable. Vulnerable. "I just... I wanted to say that what you did was brave. And I couldn't do it."
Riya blinks. "What?" She was suprised what she was listening.
"I've spent my whole life being perfect. Getting good grades. Saying the right things. And no one's ever clapped for me like they did for you. Because I'm boring. I'm... safe."
"Naina—"
"You're not safe. You're *real*. And I'm jealous. There. I said it."
For the first time, Riya sees Naina as a person. Not a rival. Just a girl who's scared of being invisible too.
"You're not boring," Riya says quietly. "You're just... careful. And that's not a bad thing."
Naina almost smiles. Then catches herself. "Don't tell anyone I said this.ok, deal?"
"Deal."
They're not friends. Not yet. But it's a start.
---
But the attention doesn't stop.
By the end of the week, people keep quoting her jokes back to her. Teachers smile at her differently. Someone made a meme: "Confidence level: Riya Sharma with a mic."
Varun printed it and taped it to the fridge. Aunt Sunita laughed for three minutes straight. But Riya's exhausted.
During in going to class, a junior occasionally stops her: "Can you give me advice on being confident?"
At lunch, someone asks: "Are you doing another show?"
After school, a group surrounds her: "Can you teach us to be funny?"
She smiles. Nods. Says the right things. But inside, she's screaming.
---
That night, she's lying in bed, staring at the ceiling.
She pulls me out.
Dear Lunch Box,
Everyone keeps saying I'm "inspirational" and "brave" and I just want to scream STOP.
I didn't give that speech to inspire anyone. I gave it because I was tired. Tired of shrinking. Tired of apologizing. Tired of being the joke before anyone else could make me one.
And now everyone wants a piece of me. They want me to be this girl who's always confident, always funny, always ON.
But I'm not. I'm just... tired.
Is this what being seen feels like? Because it's exhausting.
— R
She closes me. Turns off the light.
And in the dark, she whispers:
"I don't know if I can do this every day."
---
The next day, Megha notices.
"You've been weird," she says at lunch.
"I'm fine."
"You're not. You're doing that thing where you smile but your eyes don't."
Riya looks down at her tiffin. "I'm just tired."
"Of what?"
"Being... this." She gestures vaguely at herself. "The funny girl. The confident girl. The girl everyone wants to be inspired by."
Megha's quiet for a moment. Then: "You know you don't owe anyone that, right?"
"What?"
"Confidence. Jokes. Inspiration. You don't owe it to anyone. You're allowed to just... exist."
Riya's eyes sting. "When did you get so wise?"
"I've always been wise. You just never listen because you're too busy stealing my fries."
They both laugh—small, genuine, relieved.
---
That afternoon, Kabir finds her on the terrace after school. She's sitting on the ledge, legs dangling, eating chips straight from the packet.
He sits beside her without asking. Pulls out his sketchbook. Starts drawing the skyline.
They don't talk for a while. Just exist together in the quiet.
Finally, Riya says, "You ever wish you could just... turn it off? Being seen?"
"Sometimes," he says. "But then I remember—being invisible hurt more."
She looks at him. "Really?"
"Yeah. At least now, people know you're here. Even if it's messy."
"Messy's an understatement."
"Messy's honest."
She smiles. "You always know what to say."
"Not always. I just pay attention."
He slides something across the ledge. A folded sketch. She opens it.
It's her—sitting exactly like this, chips in hand, hair escaping its bun, looking out at the city. Not performing. Not posing. Just a chubby girl.
At the bottom: "The girl who forgot she was being watched."
Her breath catches.
"Kabir..."
"Keep it," he says. "For when you forget your-self"
---
That night, she writes one more entry.
Dear Lunch Box,
I don't know if I'm ready to be everyone's inspiration. I don't know if I can live up to everyone's expectations. I don't even know if I can live up to my OWN expectations.
But I think I'm okay with that.
Because maybe confidence isn't about being ready. Maybe it's about doing it scared.
Tomorrow I'm going to tell people I need space. Not because I'm ungrateful. But because I need to remember how to just be Riya.
And maybe that's enough.
—
She closes me. Looks at the pink top hanging on her chair. Smiles.
Not because she's figured everything out.
But because she's still here. Still trying.
Still taking up space—even when it's hard.