The warm smell of fried snacks drifted lazily through the campus as Nila and her friends queued up near the mess block's weekend snack counter. "Pani puri!" Prerna squealed with delight, dragging Amritha forward by the wrist. Nila followed them with a grin, already halfway into her second plate.
They found a shady spot under the neem tree beside the staff quarters wall and settled down on the low stone ledge. Sastika joined with a dramatic sigh, fanning herself with her palm. "Why is pani puri this spicy and yet so addictive?" she asked, eyes watering.
"Pain is part of the experience," Nila replied, laughing as she grabbed another crisp puri loaded with spicy water.
Pavani and Jai Harini arrived next, each balancing two plates. Sree Lekha came sprinting last, nearly slipping but expertly saving both her puri plate and dignity. "Mission success!" she announced with mock heroism.
For the next twenty minutes, the group chatted non-stop—about everything from the latest seniors' gossip to their first impressions of the school. Nila noticed how naturally everyone was bonding, the awkwardness of their first few days already dissolving.
"We should sit together at night in the bay," Jai Harini suggested, licking her fingers clean. "Let's tell stories—scary, funny, anything."
"Yes, yes!" Prerna agreed. "I heard there's a ghost story about Room 21B, the one in the corner near the laundry."
"No ghost story, please," Sree Lekha pleaded, her voice already nervous.
"Then tell us a love story," Amritha teased, poking Nila lightly.
Nila smiled. "Only if it's fictional," she said, knowing well that in her past life, love had never been as simple as a story.
They agreed to meet in the bay common space after lights-out and do a low-volume gossip + story round before sleep. It felt like the first real spark of sisterhood among them.
By 5:00 PM, Nila had changed into her sport shoes and jogged toward the basketball court. The air was cooler now, and several girls had already gathered—some bouncing balls, others stretching, and a few shyly lingering on the sidelines.
Shivani Di stood with her clipboard, talking to one of the sports teachers. Nila waved, and Shivani beckoned her over.
"We're just going to play casually today," she explained. "But we'll form rough teams by the end of the week. From Monday, evening playtime will include basketball practice for all interested players—both seniors and freshers. After two months of training, we'll have a trial match and finalize the house teams."
Nila nodded, liking the structure. It felt like a serious commitment, not just a time-pass activity.
She joined a group warming up and found herself dribbling and passing with Amritha, Jai Harini, and two tenth graders—one of whom, Divya, was apparently last year's house captain.
The game started loosely, with mismatched teams and constant interruptions for tips and corrections. Still, Nila enjoyed it. Her body remembered how to move, how to defend, how to make space for a clean pass. She was rusty, but not lost.
Amritha missed a shot and groaned. "We seriously need practice," she said.
"But we have time," Nila replied, patting her on the back. "We'll get there."
Shivani Di blew the whistle at 6:00 sharp. "That's all for today. Same time, Monday. Everyone, make sure to bring shoes and water bottles. Let your house sports leaders know if you're interested in being considered."
As they walked back toward the dorms, Sree Lekha caught up. "Guys, we should do a team name. Something funny."
"Like what?" Nila asked.
"Maybe… Basket Biryani?" she offered.
They burst out laughing. It was a terrible name, but it didn't matter. I won't go with any names now, let's see what will happen in the future.
After basketball and a quick freshen-up, the announcement came like music to everyone's ears—"Movie screening in the TV hall at 6:00 PM!" Within minutes, word spread like wildfire. Girls got refreshed up faster than usual, and a small stampede of excited girls filled the corridor, heading toward the TV hall on the ground floor.
"They're playing Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani!" someone shouted.
"OMG, Bunny!" shrieked Sastika, grabbing Jai Harini's hand. "I've watched it six times already, but I'm still going!"
Nila smiled quietly. That movie was timeless—Bunny's wanderlust, Naina's transformation, the bittersweet friendships. Even in her past life, this film had been a comfort watch, reminding her that it's okay to chase both adventure and stability. She knew that even years later, YJHD would still make people cry and laugh with equal intensity.
The TV hall was packed, with girls sitting on mats, bean bags, or huddled together on blankets. Someone had brought packets of chips and murukku. The warden had allowed the lights to be dimmed, and when the opening credits rolled, a cheer went up.
Halfway through the movie, though, Nila heard some mild grumbling behind her.
"I thought they'd play something in Tamil," Amritha muttered. "I don't even understand all the dialogues."
Sree Lekha, who was sitting beside her, added, "Exactly. A nice Telugu movie would have been better—maybe Magadheera or Arya!"
Still, they didn't walk out. By the time "Kabira" played during the wedding sequence, most of the girls were either humming or wiping quiet tears. Emotions needed no subtitles.
Later, at the dinner table, the film's afterglow hadn't worn off. The plates had dal, ghee rice, and chapati with aloo curry, but the real spice was the argument that had now broken out between three major factions at Table 3.
"Bollywood movies are too dreamy," Pavani declared, tearing her chapati. "Dancing in snow and all… who does that?"
"But they're aspirational," Amritha argued, "and the production quality is top-notch! Dil Dhadakne Do, Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara, so well made."
"Excuse me," interrupted Prerna, holding up a finger. "Only Kollywood gives mass—action with intelligence. Watch a Vijay movie and tell me it's not entertaining and meaningful."
"Kollywood is dramatic," Sree Lekha said, dramatically rolling her eyes. "Too much shouting. In Telugu, even a love story feels intense. There's depth and music you can actually hum."
"You've clearly not watched Kutty," Nila interjected, finally joining the conversation. "Tamil cinema has quiet emotions too. Not everything's about action."
Shivani Di, who had just sat down at the next table, leaned in with a smirk. "I vote for Malayalam movies. Subtle, slow, and pure art."
"Traitor!" Sastika gasped playfully.
The table burst into laughter. Someone declared they should all take turns picking weekend movies based on language. The idea was met with loud approval.
"Next Saturday—Telugu!" Pavani said quickly before anyone could object.
"Then Tamil," Prerna countered.
"Then we'll make everyone cry with a Malayalam one," Shivani Di added, winking.
"Only if we get biryani with it," muttered Sree Lekha, causing another round of laughter.
As the conversation mellowed into sleepy smiles and scraped plates, Nila felt something shift inside her. This was more than just a dinner table argument. It was the start of belonging—an awareness that everyone came from different backgrounds, spoke different languages, loved different heroes… yet here they were, sharing the same blanket of girlhood.
She took a last bite of aloo curry and looked around the table—at Pavani and Sree Lekha bickering, Prerna teasing Shivani Di, Amritha humming "Ilahi" softly under her breath.
It wasn't just a hostel. It was slowly becoming a home.
After dinner, the group slowly drifted toward Jai Harini and Sastika's cabin. Over the past day, it had unofficially become the hub for all things fun, whether it was trading snacks, telling stories, or simply venting about hostel life. The cabin wasn't particularly large, but somehow everyone fit, sprawling across the floor, leaning against the bed frames, or curling up with pillows like it was a sleepover.
Nila arrived early, already in her soft cotton pyjamas with her hair braided. She had tucked her pillow under her arm, ready for a long night of talking—or listening. A few girls raised their eyebrows when they saw her so prepared.
"Oh no, she's serious-serious," said Amritha, laughing. "She's ready for a post-lights-out gossip marathon!"
"Wait, that's smart," Prerna said. "Let me go change. If we're gonna get kicked out after lights-out, might as well be in PJs."
Soon enough, the group scattered temporarily. Girls disappeared into their own cabins to fold their blankets down, change into sleepwear, and brush off biscuit crumbs from the bed. Within ten minutes, everyone was back—armed with pillows, bedsheets like shawls, and even a few packets of Hide & Seek biscuits passed around like contraband.
The conversation started with schoolwork, of course.
"I can't believe we have assignments already," Pavani groaned. "It's not even been two full weeks!"
"We thought we had two whole days to chill," Sree Lekha added, flopping dramatically on the floor. "Now one day is gone! Wasted!"
"I didn't even touch my notebook," sighed Jai Harini.
When someone asked if Nila had at least started her work, she hesitated for a second, then nodded. "I finished it in the morning."
A collective groan rose like a wave.
"Please tell me you wrote it neatly," Prerna said, inching closer. "I'll copy fast-fast. I swear I won't bug you after this."
"Same here," chimed in Sastika. "You've become our class saviour."
Nila laughed, half shy, half smug. She passed around her notebook as the others peeked into the pages like it held secret codes.
And just as the hum of academic stress settled down, someone whispered the magic words:
"Shall we tell ghost stories now?"
The room instantly went quiet. Then… excited squeals.