It was Shalini Mandal. And that boy—I remembered now. I had seen his face in photos. Back when I got my hostel confirmation email, I had spiraled into a deep Google-and-Insta dive, searching for anything and everything about this place. I stumbled onto the college's fest reels, some tagged pictures, even a blog post by an old student. That's where I saw her—Shalini. Smiling wide with a glittery bindi, arm looped through a boy's in half the pictures.
Him. Nikhil Varmani. Back then, they looked… perfect. Like the kind of couple who finish each other's assignments and sentences. Her captions were cute. His comments were funnier. The kind of filtered reality that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, you'll find something that effortless too. And yet, here they were—cracked open and unraveling right before my eyes. No filters. No edits. Just raw silence and two people hurting.
Funny. I used to think they looked good together. But then again, what looks good in photos isn't always built to survive real life.
Shoulders stiff, hair tumbling around her like a shield. She was crying—I didn't need to hear her to know. Her body said it all. The way her head tilted down. The way her fists clenched. Her pain was private but spilled out anyway.
His face was unreadable, but something in his posture... it wasn't coldness. It was hesitation.Even from this distance, something crackled in the air between them. An argument. A storm just past its peak. I couldn't hear a word. I didn't need to. I stood still, watching from behind the tree line, hidden in the gold-grey dusk. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be looking. But it was like watching the first spark before a fire—fragile and dangerous. They weren't shouting, not anymore. But their bodies moved like words were still cutting. Shalini wiped her face furiously, stepping back. Nikhil didn't move. Didn't chase her. He just stood there.
And then—
He looked up. Right at me.
I froze, half hoping the shadows were hiding me, half wondering if he'd seen too much. But he didn't react. Didn't flinch. Just turned around and walked away.
I stood there a moment longer, my heart thudding oddly.
"I knew it," a voice said from behind me, low and smug. "First day and we already have a certified stalker on campus." I jumped—literally flinched—and nearly tripped over my own feet. I turned around, ready to defend my completely innocent position behind a tree with absolutely no suspicious behavior involved. He was leaning against a scooter, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised like he was judging me on a scale of one to jail time.
"I wasn't spying," I blurted out.
"Oh? So crouching like a National Geographic intern behind a tree is a local custom, is it?"
"I was just… walking. This tree came in the way. Naturally, I stopped to admire it."
"Of course," he said, nodding solemnly. "The rare Dehradun Drama Tree. Known for blooming during arguments."
His grin was infuriatingly perfect. I hated how quickly my stomach flipped.
"I'm not from here," I said, trying to recover. "Maybe this is how people walk in Sikar."
"I'll alert the forest department."
He was impossible. Tall, with a face that shouldn't be allowed this much sarcasm. I wanted to punch him and maybe sit next to him in a lecture, just once. For science.
"I'm Varsha," I said, because what else do you do when someone accuses you of felony-level curiosity?
"Uttam," he said. "Campus guide, sarcasm supplier, and occasional spy-catcher. You're lucky I don't charge."
"Oh, I'd pay. In exposure, maybe."
He laughed. And it was warm. Real. Not the mocking kind I was bracing for. Somewhere in the background, Shalini's voice rose again, but for the first time since I arrived, it didn't feel like the main noise. Uttam tilted his head toward the direction of the fight. "You know them?"
I hesitated. "Not really. I've just… seen their pictures."
He nodded like he understood more than I said. "Yeah. They look good together, right?"
We started walking without really deciding to. Maybe because standing there felt too close to something private, or maybe because Uttam had a way of making everything feel casual—like this campus was just an extension of his own home.
"New student?" he asked, falling into step beside me.
I nodded, kicking a loose pebble along the path. "Yeah. Just moved in. Still trying to figure out where everything is… and failing miserably."
"I noticed," he teased, nudging my shoulder lightly. "The best rooms are usually two floors up, by the way. But you're already stuck with the Drama Tree, so I guess you're making interesting choices."
"Drama Tree?" I scoffed. "That's not an official campus landmark, is it?"
"It is now," he grinned. "I'll get a plaque made. 'Varsha's Hideout.'"
I groaned, covering my face. "Please don't immortalize my worst moment."
"Worst?" He raised an eyebrow. "You've only been here for what—an hour? Give it a week, you'll top this."
"I'm both scared and weirdly excited for that."
He chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets as we rounded the corner away from the hostel. The fading light stretched his shadow long beside mine, like we were walking with versions of ourselves we hadn't met yet.
"So, you've done your research, huh?" Uttam glanced sideways at me, the teasing fading into something more curious. "Recognizing third-years on your first day takes dedication."
I exhaled, feeling the embarrassment creep back in. "It's not like I was stalking anyone. I just… wanted to know what I was getting into, I guess."
"Fair enough." He nodded. "This place can be… a lot. It's easier when you feel like you know something before everything starts happening all at once."
"Exactly." I hesitated before adding, "I just want things to be… different this time."
"From?"
I chewed my lip, staring at the path ahead. "Old things. Past friendships that didn't last. Mistakes that did."
He didn't press further, just walked quietly beside me for a few moments.
"Different can be good," he finally said. "Especially if you let yourself start fresh instead of running from whatever came before." I glanced at him, something soft settling in my chest at how easily he said it—like he wasn't trying to sound wise, just honest.
"Do you give all the new students free therapy, or am I just lucky?"
He laughed, bumping his shoulder against mine again. "Only the ones caught spying."
I groaned. "You're never letting me live that down, are you?"
"Not a chance."
A comfortable silence settled between us as we walked along the garden path, the sky above shifting from soft orange to dusky blue. For the first time since arriving, my nerves weren't crawling under my skin. I wasn't thinking about window-side beds or how badly I wanted to impress some stranger who would eventually share my space. I wasn't thinking about old friendships that burned out quietly while I wasn't paying attention.
I was just… here. And maybe starting over wouldn't be so terrifying after all.
"So," I began, cautiously hopeful, "what year are you in?"
Uttam looked straight ahead, smirking. "Same as you. First year."
I stopped dead in my tracks. "What?!"
He turned, grinning, clearly enjoying my dramatic reaction. "Yeah. What, you thought I was some enlightened senior sent to counsel wandering freshers?"
"I did! You carry yourself like you've been here forever. That's cheating."
"Sorry," he said, not sorry at all. "I like making dramatic first impressions."
I narrowed my eyes. "Well, you succeeded."
"And," he added casually, as if it were a weather update, "I'm Nikhil's younger brother. Just thought I'd mention."
I blinked.
"What?! You're related to the guy under the Drama Tree?!"
He chuckled, stuffing his hands back into his pockets as if this weren't breaking news. "Technically, yes. But don't lump us together—he's the emotionally tortured one. I'm the funny, charming one."
I opened my mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "You can't just drop that casually! This whole time I've been—" I stopped short, realizing I was about to confess I'd been admiring his brother from behind a tree. "—never mind."
"Caught yourself there, huh?" he teased.
Before I could retaliate, I heard familiar voices ahead.
"Varsha!" my mom called, waving at me near the hostel entrance.
I sighed. "Time for the family photo ritual."
Uttam raised an eyebrow. "Oh, the goodbye moment. Classic. Need me to disappear into the shadows?"
"Actually…" I glanced between him and my parents. "Would you mind taking the picture?" We walked up to them, and my dad gave him a polite nod while my mom beamed.
"Oh, you made a friend already!" she whispered, clearly relieved.
"Something like that," I muttered.
"Beta, will you take a photo of us?" she asked Uttam, handing him her phone.
"Of course, aunty," Uttam said cheerfully. "Everyone say new beginnings."
We smiled, posed, and just before he clicked, I noticed he smiled too—subtly, warmly. Like he already knew this photo would matter.
As he handed the phone back, I realized something:
Sometimes, what looks good in pictures is nothing like reality. And sometimes, reality surprises you in all the best ways.
Just as the photo clicked and the screen froze us in a frame of smiles, a strange lump formed in my throat. The kind that sits heavy—not painful, just… quietly heartbreaking. My mom glanced at me, then at the hostel building behind. Her eyes glossed over, and suddenly her whole face changed.
"Okay," she whispered, brushing imaginary dust from my kurti. "Everything's set inside. I even put your towel on the hanger and arranged your pooja thali."
"Mom…" I muttered, looking away, already feeling the sting behind my eyes.
My dad cleared his throat awkwardly, like he always did when he couldn't figure out whether to hug or give advice. "Call us if you need anything. Anything, Varsha. Even if it's the fan speed not working or… or you miss ghee."
I nodded, biting my cheek to keep it together.
Uttam, sensing the shift, quietly stepped away. "I'll leave you guys to it," he said softly. "See you around, detective."
I gave him a small smile without turning. "Thanks for the photo."
And just like that, he melted into the background, like a scene fading out while the real one took center stage.
"Come here," my mom whispered, pulling me into the tightest hug possible. I breathed in the familiar scent of home—the lavender lotion on her skin, the faint mist on her kurta. For a moment, I didn't want to let go.
My father placed a hand on my head, his version of saying everything he never says out loud. "Study well. Make good friends. And don't overthink. Everything doesn't need to be a movie, okay?"
But it already felt like one. A quiet, emotional scene from a story where the lead character has no idea what's coming next.
They walked away slowly, turning back every few steps to wave. I kept waving till they disappeared around the corner, like I'd never see them again.
And just like that—I was on my own. The hostel behind me. A room waiting for a stranger called Madhavi.
And a life that had only just begun.
I stood there long after their footsteps faded, long after the automatic glass doors shut behind them. A sudden hush fell over the hostel courtyard, like the world had paused for a breath I wasn't ready to take.
Inside, everything was where my mom had left it—neatly folded bedsheets, steel dabba on the table, water bottle by the window. But the silence was deafening.
Room 837 suddenly felt too big. Too new. Too clean. Like it didn't belong to me yet.
I sat down on the edge of the non-window bed—the one Madhavi hadn't taken—and stared at the empty side across from me. Her bed was untouched, but her presence was already real. Like an invisible ripple in the room. A name I didn't know, a person I hadn't met. But someone I'd be waking up next to for the next year.
A part of me was excited. What if she was the one? The kind of friend you kept forever. The kind who'd know your tea preferences and cry with you after a tough viva. Someone who'd laugh till her stomach hurt at your jokes and stay up late helping you revise despite exams.
But another part of me… was scared.
Because I knew how quickly friendships could turn cold. How people could turn into strangers overnight. And the last thing I wanted was another story that ended before it ever began.
I lay down for a moment and looked up at the white ceiling. A fan spun slowly, like time was easing me in.
"I'll adjust," I'd said earlier.
But the truth was—I didn't know if I could. Not just to the room. But to the loneliness. The waiting. The possibility of history repeating itself. Still, something deep in my chest whispered: Try. Just once more.
My head ached lightly, and the emptiness in the room felt thicker now. I sat up slowly, hugging my knees, and looked over at the untouched side of the room. Madhavi's side.
Still nothing. No bags. No signs of life.
I stood up and walked to the window. The hostel grounds were slowly emptying as parents left, one by one. Some girls stood in groups already laughing like they'd known each other for years. Others were sitting on the grass, scrolling through their phones, probably pretending not to feel what I was feeling.
I reached for my bottle and took a long sip of water.
I missed my room back home. I missed knowing where the light switch was without looking. I missed my mother's humming from the kitchen and the quiet sound of my father turning the newspaper pages.
I missed being known.
But something about the ache also felt… honest. Like this emptiness had a purpose.
Maybe all beginnings are supposed to sting a little.
I opened my suitcase again, not to unpack—my mother had already done most of it—but to feel something familiar. I picked out my old t-shirt, the one with the frayed sleeve and the faded print from school days, and wore it like armor.
Then I turned off the light.
And slept on the very edge of my bed, like someone else might arrive any minute and claim the rest.