We reached early—at least that's what we thought. But in a hostel full of anxious first-years and their equally hyperactive families, "early" is just another myth.
Every room was being claimed like a limited-edition product. Everyone was in a hurry, and no one cared about "first come, first served."
The corridor of Girls' Wing was already buzzing with the clatter of suitcases, the clang of water bottles, and the high-pitched notes of mothers instructing their daughters on everything. And I? I was already regretting not bringing a backup bag of patience. I was lugging my new life in a black trolley, soaked in sweat and adrenaline.
My dad, normally composed, was already running down the corridor of the hostel, eyes scanning room numbers with the precision of a man who'd done this a thousand times before. My mom, ever the organizer, was nervously adjusting her dupatta, eyes darting between the walls and the neatly lined up bags of incoming students, adjusting my bag straps like they were her last line of defense.
I wasn't about to settle for anything less than a big room—the kind that would allow me to breathe freely, maybe with a view. A place where I could study late into the night without bumping into my own furniture.
But Room 837—we didn't even know it was "our target." We were just frantically peeking into rooms, hoping to find something decent. The halls were packed with families trying to find the perfect spot for their kids. I could feel my stress mounting. How did everyone already know what they were doing?
"Dad, this one!" I said, already imagining myself at the window, notebook in hand, lost in thoughts about how to conquer this new world. The warden approached us with a clipboard.
"You've chosen Room 837?" I nodded, relief washing over me.
And then, with a casual flick of her pen, she added, "It's already booked by a local student." The name hit me like a cold wave.
Madhavi Goyal.
She had already claimed the window-side bed, the very bed I had dreamed of having. My stomach churned. I'd imagined it—my bed, with the view, the light, the peaceful corner for studying. I was furious. The room was big, yes—but window side was mine in my mental Pinterest board of "dream college life." That breezy seat to the world. That selfie-perfect light. That illusion of freedom. I turned to my dad, half-expecting him to cause a minor riot. Instead, he did what typical Indian dads do best—offered a compromise with a dose of "it's not a big deal."
The warden noticed my hesitation. "You're still welcome to stay. Room 837 is spacious, and it's available for you. Just not the window side."
I forced a smile, but inside, I felt a bittersweet twist. Madhavi Goyal—whoever she was—had taken what was supposed to be mine. I didn't even know her, but the thought of her claiming the bed before I even stepped in here left me feeling... betrayed. Not in the traditional sense, but in the way only college life could. Still, the room was big. Spacious. And I had no time to be a princess about it. This was the beginning, the first step in what would surely be a long, challenging journey. "It's okay," I muttered to myself, swallowing down the frustration.
"I'll adjust."
I stepped out of the hostel and into the humid Dehradun evening, the air still heavy with the scent of wet earth and wild flowers. The soft rustle of leaves echoed with the sound of my own heartbeat, unsure but steady. My mother was still upstairs, probably folding my clothes into the wrong shelves. I didn't stop her. I needed this walk. A moment. A breath. Everything felt new—too new. New city. New faces. New walls that hadn't learned my silences yet. And somewhere in the middle of all this was her—Madhavi.
The girl I was about to share a room with. I hadn't even seen her face yet, and still, I had painted her in my mind a dozen different ways.
I was excited to meet her.
To know her. But I was scared too. What if she didn't like me? What if I messed it up again? I hugged myself as I walked past the hostel garden. The sky above was streaked with pale pinks and fading orange, like someone had smudged pastels over a page. I tried to match my breathing to the rhythm of the trees swaying above me.
I want this one to last. I want a friend who stays.
Not someone I'll look back on years later and wonder why we stopped talking. I turned a corner around the back side of the hostel and paused.
That's when I saw them.