discreetly told me that the teacher had ordered the class not to talk to me, and the prefects were keeping an eye out.I gaped at her. I had expected whispers, hatred and maybe even disgust, but not total boycott! How was I supposed to move on if they wouldn't let me forget? I thought it was the worst, but this was just the beginning.When I went to the canteen, I felt each and every pair of eyes stick to me like glue. And then the whispers came. Those horrible buzzing sounds. I could hear them everywhere I went. Even the juniors seemed to know about me. It was bound to happen, since the teachers were involved.If it had been for a day, I would've managed to bear it. If it had been for a week, I might have been able to power through it, but it lasted for months. By the time it would end, I would have forgotten how to smile.School became a haven, when my parents found out. The teachers eventually found a way to contact them, and what followed was months of abusive taunts from my entire family. I was a characterless girl with no morals, and they wouldn't let me forget it for a long time. They didn't allow me to step out of the house without supervision anymore."How long will you keep punishing me?" I asked them."You've broken our trust," my father said. "It's like shattered glass, or a crumpled paper. There's no fixing it."I cried myself to sleep every other night, thinking that maybe my parents were right. Maybe love really was a disease.Then why did they rebuke me for being sick? Why was falling in love such a sin? Why did the stories misled me to believe that love was something pure, and if it was truly that bad, why were the grown-ups allowed to do it?The questions reverberated in my mind one after the other, but there was no one to a