Humne toh socha na tha...

Tum yun kareeb aaogein

Jaane yun aanjaane me

Tum mere ban jaoge..

Oh no, he was asking about the book, wasn't he? And here I am, sitting like a fool. I haven't even read a word since I found that note. Stupid, Saher.

Now what? Do I lie? No. No. Bad idea. I'm terrible at lying. Besides, you don't lie to friends.

Wait. Friends? Are we?

"Kya hum dost hai?" Rehaan's voice from earlier today echoed in my mind. We were just talking about the event, and now I'm over here, obsessing over a mystery note while his question keeps replaying.

Why am I thinking about him right now? Get out of my head, Rehaan, you donkey. I shook my head, trying to clear the image of his annoyingly smug face.

I've tried, like, fifty times to write a response to that note, but every time, I end up tearing the paper into tiny bits. Ugh. So frustrating.

"Man, your mood looks bad. What's going on?"

Crap! My heart practically jumped out of my chest. Who's here now?! I've been so lost in this mess I didn't even realize someone had walked in.

I slowly turned, and there he was—Rehaan. Great. Of course, it's him. Why does he always show up at the worst moments?

"What are you doing here?" I asked, trying to sound casual, but my voice came out sharper than intended.

"Kyu, ye library aapne kharidi hai?" (Why, did you buy this library?) He grinned, dragging a chair over with a dramatic scrape, then sat backward on it, arms draped over the backrest as he leaned forward. His eyes met mine, a smirk playing on his lips. Of course, he made himself comfortable like he owned the place.

He just can't leave me alone, can he? I shifted slightly, trying to hide the book and, more importantly, the notes scattered across the table.

Everything is out. My mind screamed. If he sees any of it, I'm done for. Think, Saher, think!

"Dekho, mujhe pareshaan karne ki jroorat nahi hai, bas jao aap yahase" (Look, I don't need any disturbances right now. Can you just... go?) I said, my voice shaky as I tried to hide the book behind another one, praying he wouldn't notice the disaster laid out before me.

"Pareshaan toh tum pehlese lag rahi ho, kuch kaam mere liye bhi rakh liya karo, deviji." (You already look troubled, leave some of the stress for me too, Your Highness.)

He leaned even further, his chin practically resting on the backrest, and—ugh—he winked at me.

Oh. Oh, he did not just wink at me.Like, an actual wink.

My eyes narrowed as I glared at him. "Jaban zyada nahi chalne lag gayi hai aapki? Agar aap yaha se gaye nahi, toh ye deviji shraap jaroor de degi!" (Your tongue's running too much! If you don't leave, this queen will curse you!) I snapped, pointing a warning finger at him.

Why won't he just leave?!

He didn't flinch. Not even a little. In fact, he looked even more entertained, the audacity written all over his face.

"Kyu, tumhare abba ki library hai?" (Why, is this your father's library?) He asked, eyebrows raised like he'd just made the cleverest point ever.

"Shut up." I muttered, half in defeat. It's exhausting to even argue with him anymore.

"Mere sar par nachna band karo." (Stop dancing on my head.) I groaned, standing up in frustration. Why does he always act like I'm some kind of playground for his antics?

He slowly stood up too, matching my movement like he had all the time in the world. His tie hung loosely—so loosely it barely served a purpose. He tugged at it absently with one hand, the other already stuffed into his pocket.

Why does he even wear it if he hates it so much?

"Sahi kaha tha maine... aajkal kisike sar par sawar toh hoon mai." (I told you, I've been riding someone's mind lately.) His eyes glinted with mischief as he adjusted his collar, and yes—there it was—another wink.

Stop. Winking.

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms, silently begging for some higher power to intervene and make him go away. Finally, he turned to leave.

But just as I started to relax, he paused mid-step, turned halfway, and leaned back with that annoying smirk still plastered on his face. "Vaise... jise bhi apna kabootar bhej rahi ho... yeh toh pata karlo samne wala hai kon, ladka ya ladki." (By the way... before sending your pigeon, at least figure out who it's for—boy or girl.)

Kabootar?!

Wait, wait, wait. How long has he been here? He saw the notes? He knows?! MY secret?!

Okay, Saher, play it cool. My brain was scrambling for an escape plan as I quickly stuffed the book into my bag, grabbed my stuff, and rushed toward the door.

I found him leaning against the wall outside, hands casually tucked in his pockets, his posture relaxed. The sunlight hit his face just right, casting sharp shadows along his jawline. Why does he have to look good right now? NO! Focus, Saher.

"Listen," I said, walking up to him, trying to sound composed, "whatever you think you know, it's none of your business. So stop poking your nose where it doesn't belong."

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he was holding back a laugh. "Your first question should be: what am I still doing here?" He asked, voice smooth, his head tilting slightly like he was amused.

"Mujhe kya hai... nacho, gaao, zameen par let hi kyu na jao!" (Why do I care? Dance, sing, sleep on the floor for all I care!) I rolled my eyes, trying to sound indifferent. Please let him believe it.

"Yee... yee... tumhara secret chupa raha hoon, aise baat karogi toh complain kar doonga." (Yee, yeee... I'm keeping your secret, but if you talk like this, I'll complain.) He flashed me a grin, one that was so fake it should've been on a billboard.

I could feel my frustration bubbling over. "Yaar, aapki problem kya hai? Maine bhais churayi hai aapki?" (Dude, what's your problem? Did I steal your buffalo?)

He paused, his teasing smile fading as his eyes locked onto mine with a seriousness I wasn't expecting. He leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice. "Churaya toh hai... phir kabhi bataunga." (Well, you did steal something... I'll tell you some other time.)

What does that even mean?! But the way he was looking at me... I felt heat creeping up my neck, and my brain was screaming at me to look away, but I couldn't.

"Jab do log baar baar takrane lag jayein... toh..." (When two people keep bumping into each other... then...)

Then what?! I wanted to scream, but all that came out was a whispered "Toh?"

He chuckled softly, stepping back, his usual smirk returning. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

And then he winked. Again.

Another wink. I swear to God.

"Toh ke aage?!" (Then what?!) I yelled after him as he walked away.

"Agar dobara mile toh fir bataunga." (If we meet again, I'll tell you.)

He turned, walking backwards now, that infuriating grin still on his face. Why was I smiling? I shouldn't be smiling. Stop smiling, Saher!

"We're literally meeting this evening for the event, you idiot," I said, raising my brows, my voice clear this time.

He waved without looking back, still walking away, and called out, "Thik hai... abse mai nahi milunga tumhe." (Fine... from now on, I won't meet you.)

Wait. What does he mean "won't meet me"? We have to work on the preparations together today!

Ooo

I stood in the assembly ground, the list of tasks clutched tightly in my hand, scanning the school entrance with an intensity I was sure would make Rehaan magically appear. He was supposed to be here, and once again, he was late. Of course, he was. The moment you actually need him, he vanishes.

"Jevha midaych naste tevha tapkun jato, aani aata jevha garaj aahe mahiti nahi kuthe mela bavdat," I grumbled under my breath. (When I don't need him, he's everywhere. But now, when I do? Nowhere to be found.)

Where are you, Rehaan Randheer? I glared at the empty space, willing him to show up.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps. My heart gave a small leap—I wasn't sure if it was from relief or frustration. Either way, finally, he was—

Wait.

This wasn't Rehaan. My shoulders slumped the moment I saw the guy walking toward me. He was... umm... oh, what was his name? I knew him. Kind of. He was new this year—some guy who'd passed the entrance exam. Honestly, I'd never really bothered to remember.

"Hey!" He waved at me, grinning like we were long-lost pals. Why is he waving? Is he expecting me to wave back?

I narrowed my eyes instead. "Don't talk to me, or I'll complain," I shot back, crossing my arms. His smile faltered, and I felt a twinge of satisfaction.

"Oh... um, the list," he mumbled, looking awkward.

I raised an eyebrow. The list? "It's none of your business," I snapped. "This is between me and Rehaan. I'll give it to him directly."

"Oh, uh... he actually sent me," the boy explained, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "Varsha Ma'am called him to check the math test papers for the juniors."

I blinked at him, my thoughts grinding to a halt. Rehaan sent you? What. He. Sent you?! That little—so this is what he meant after school? He had this all planned out, didn't he? Unbelievable. It wasn't like I needed him here... except... it hurt.

No, no, it doesn't. It doesn't hurt. It totally hurts.

"And since I'm the vice-captain, I'll be helping you instead," he continued, smiling like he had just delivered the best news ever.

Great. Just great.

I sighed, mentally preparing myself. "Tumhare liye hi function hai, tum hi kaam karoge?" I tried to explain it without sounding too desperate. (This function is for you, and how can you help me with the presentation??)

He smiled again. And that's when I noticed—dimples. He had dimples. Just like Rehaan, but not quite as deep.

"I can't let you do this alone," he insisted, still smiling as if that was supposed to make this situation better. "When the function happens, I'll pretend like I was never even involved."

Okay. He's being polite. Nice. But no, I still don't want him here.

"Yeah, but—" I tried again, but he cut me off before I could get a full sentence out.

"Just give me the list." His hand was already out, waiting.

Seriously?

I hesitated, staring at his extended hand. Ugh, fine. I shoved the list into his hand, wanting this over with.

He turned to leave, and I thought I was free until— "Accha, bhaiya..." I called after him on instinct. (Hey, brother...)

He stopped mid-step, turning around, confusion written all over his face. "Bhaiya?"

I shrugged. "Yaha ka rule hai, sare boys ko 'bhaiya' bolna, aur boys girls ko 'didi' bulate hai." (It's a rule here: girls call boys 'brother,' and boys call us 'sister.')

He stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "We're in the same class. Don't call me 'bhaiya'—it's weird. Just call me Kabir. Kabir Roy," he said, his face relaxing into a smile again.

"Okay... umm... Kabir," I managed, the word feeling odd on my tongue.

"What were you saying?" he asked, as if nothing weird had just happened.

I cleared my throat. "Just... ask Rehaan if the list is fine, and if there's anything missing, let him check it once." I hated to admit it, but... Rehaan was reliable. No one could ever find a mistake in his work, no matter how hard they tried.

Ugh.

"Oh, okay," Kabir nodded, giving me that same friendly smile again. "He's such a reliable person, huh?"

I glanced at him, not sure if that was sarcasm or not. "Unfortunately, yes," I muttered, my lips twitching into a small smile despite myself.

Kabir waved one last time and walked off, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Rehaan was reliable. That was the problem. Reliable to the point where I could never, ever stay mad at him for long.

Moron.

Ooo

I was just about to leave when I spotted him—the little boy. Of course, it had to be him. The same boy I had terrified the other day, and now he was charging towards me like I was his last hope. His small, round face was pale, eyes wide with fear. He stopped dead in his tracks, staring up at me, clutching the pockets of his pants like I was about to demand all his pocket money again.

Oh no... he still thinks I'm the villain.

I bent down to his height, trying to look as gentle as possible. "Hey, pumpkin," I said softly, hoping to ease that fear I could see in his eyes.

"Didi..." he squeaked, his voice barely audible. He was glancing nervously at the school gate behind him, as though expecting someone. I followed his gaze but didn't see anyone. "What?" I asked, offering him a small smile.

"Agar mai kuch bhi bolunga, aap fine mang lengi," he whispered, voice trembling. (If I say anything, you'll ask for a fine again, won't you?)

My heart sank a little. I kneeled fully on the ground, trying to meet him at his level. The guilt was overwhelming—he was so young, and I had completely overreacted that day. His small legs were covered in dust, his black shorts and Red House T-shirt a little wrinkled from whatever game he had been playing. Without thinking, I reached out and brushed the dirt off his knees, then looked up at him with a softer smile. "Sorry, pumpkin."

His eyes grew impossibly wide, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. I couldn't help but chuckle at the sheer surprise on his face.

"Dekho na... tum mere liye khana laye the, aur maine tumse ulta paise mang liye. Didi is bad, right?" I said, shaking my head at myself. (Look, you brought me food and I asked you for money instead. Your sister's really bad, isn't she?) I gently placed my hand on his shoulder and stood back up, hoping to make it right.

"Umm... mai kuch nahi bolunga, varna aap fir fine dene bolengi," he muttered, glancing nervously at the gate again, clearly on edge. (I won't say anything, or you'll ask for another fine.)

I softened more. "Are you waiting for someone?" I asked, and he shook his head, quick and panicked. "Nahi, nahi." (No, no.)

"Accha, us din ke liye maaf kiya?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. (So, have you forgiven me for that day?)

His little face scrunched up in thought, and then, with all the hesitation in the world, he looked up at me, speaking in that small, shaky voice again. "Par... apne mere coins toh diye hi nahi," he said, clearly scared I might lose my temper again. (But... you didn't give me my coins back.)

Smart kid.

I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could—oh no. My heart sank. I spotted Principal Sir walking towards us from across the grounds.

This is so bad.

"Hey, pumpkin, cry louder," I whispered quickly, dropping back down to my knees.

"Kyu?" He blinked at me, totally confused. (Why?)

"Principal Sir is coming! Cry louder!" I whispered urgently, giving him a quick nudge. He turned his head and saw the looming figure of Principal Sir. Without thinking twice, the boy started wailing. Tears spilled from his eyes, but there was also that lingering fear in them—this time not of me, but of getting caught by the principal.

Good boy.

If Principal Sir caught us chatting after sports time, I was done for. There was no leniency when it came to boys and girls talking after school hours, especially outside sports time.

The moment I saw Principal Sir walking towards us, I knew we were in trouble. My heart skipped a beat, and I crouched down to Pumpkin's height again. "It's okay, don't cry, see? Nothing happened," I said, trying to maintain some calm, though inside, I was panicking.

And then—of course—this little kid stops crying for real. Is he mad? I almost facepalmed right there.

Why would he stop now?

I glared at him, leaning in to whisper sharply, "Agar tum ab chup hue toh double coins le lungi mai." (If you stop now, I'll take double the coins!) My eyes narrowed to drive the point home.

Pumpkin got the hint immediately. His eyes went wide with terror, and in an instant, the fake tears started streaming again, harder than before. He let out another loud wail, just as Principal Sir arrived.

"Kya ho raha hai yaha?" Principal Sir asked, his deep voice making my stomach twist with nerves. (What's going on here?)

I stood up quickly, trying to look innocent. "Sir, this boy was running towards the water cooler, and he slipped. He started crying, and there was no one around, so I was just trying to calm him down, but he's not listening," I explained, doing my best to sound concerned.

Pumpkin was still crying, but I could tell he was about to stop again.

Not now, kid, don't you dare.

I shot him a pointed look, and—bless him—he started crying even louder, his sobs echoing around us. Good job, Pumpkin. You're not so bad at this after all.

Principal Sir bent down as much as his large frame allowed, trying to examine the boy. "Kuch nahi hua hai... chalo chup ho jao," he said, patting Pumpkin's head gently. (Nothing happened... come on, stop crying now.)

But Pumpkin, in all his dramatic glory, kept up the act, sobbing uncontrollably like he'd just fallen from a tree.

Wait, is he actually crying?

I knelt beside him, trying to keep up appearances. "It's okay, Pum..., umm... dekho tumhe kahi chot nahi lagi hai," I said softly, waving my hand to signal him to ease up. (It's okay... you didn't get hurt anywhere, right?) But instead of stopping, he cried harder, as if on cue.

At first, I thought the kid was just doing a stellar job at pretending, but then I noticed something—he wasn't stopping. His cries weren't those dramatic sobs from before. This time, they were real.

My stomach dropped. Wait, is he actually crying now?

I stepped closer, my heart racing. Please, don't tell me I scared him for real. My earlier act of making him cry felt like a huge mistake now. I bit my lip, trying to gauge the situation, but Principal Sir didn't seem to notice anything wrong. He continued to pat Pumpkin's back, his large hand awkwardly comforting the small boy.

"Sir, ye toh chup hi nahi ho raha," I repeated, my voice a little more anxious now. (Sir, he's really not stopping.)

To my surprise, Principal Sir actually picked him up, holding him in his arms. I had to bite my lip to stop from laughing at how the situation had flipped. There he was, Principal Sir, patting Pumpkin's back like a doting parent. "Kuch nahi hua hai, bas thoda ghabra gaya hoga," he said, still soothing Pumpkin. (Nothing happened, he's just a little scared.)

I tried to keep my face calm when Principal Sir turned back to me. "How's your Olympiad preparation going?" he asked, as though we weren't dealing with an emotional meltdown right in front of him.

"Sir, it's... it's in process," I stammered, forcing the words out while my eyes stayed glued to Pumpkin.

"Good. Do your best tomorrow, and make sure everything is perfect. This little gentleman here will be introducing himself, right?" he said with a gentle smile at Pumpkin, though the boy was still sobbing quietly into his shoulder.

I nodded, barely able to respond. Forget the Olympiad and function. Is this boy okay?

Why is he crying so much?

Principal Sir, unbothered by the theatrics, walked away with Pumpkin still in his arms, leaving me standing there, watching their backs as they disappeared around the corner.

Strict or not, teachers in a boarding school are like second parents. They might be tough, but they cared in their own odd ways. We were lucky to have them around.

I let out a deep breath, my heart finally slowing down. That was too close.

Ooo

Tonight was washing night, which meant the washing area at the far end of our dorm was packed. Girls from both dorms were in there, laughing, chatting, and scrubbing away at their clothes by hand. Yeah, no washing machines here, just pure manual labor—boarding school perks, right?

Tomorrow's Thursday, and for us, it's not just any day—it's Baalday (hair day) means hair washing day. After breakfast, we head to school, but Thursdays and Sundays are when every girl washes her hair like it's some sacred ritual. So tonight, the washing area was buzzing with prep for washing clothes. But me? I was stretched out on my bed, far from all the noise and chaos.

See, my bed's right at the start of the dorm, and the washing area is way at the back, so I could barely hear the ruckus. Our dorm is laid out in these neat little squares. Two rows, seven squares in each row. Each square has two beds facing each other, so it's all symmetrical and... organized, I guess. My bed faces Mahi's, and there's this small gap between us, which is like our own little territory.

Cozy, right?

Above my heads, by my pillow, I've got a window—Mahi's got one too. The breeze is nice, and it keeps things fresh. Between our windows, we share this big study table, which honestly is probably the only thing keeping our side of the room from turning into total chaos. Her bed's got a small wall on the left, low enough that she could rest her arm on it if she wanted. and beyond that, another girl's bed starts. It's like this all the way down—seven squares in my row, seven in the row opposite, and at the very end? The washing area.

I couldn't hear a thing from over there, not that I'm complaining. The further away from the washing madness, the better. It's quiet here, peaceful even, and I'm just lying back, happy to have my little corner of calm before the inevitable Baalday rush kicks in tomorrow.

"Saher, so rahi hai kya?" (Are you sleeping?) Mahi's voice broke through the fog of my half-asleep mind. I turned over lazily, half expecting her to solve her own problem, but no, there she was, sitting up on her bed, staring at me with her big, questioning eyes.

"Whattt?" I grumbled, forcing myself to acknowledge her.

"Kapde dhone ka aalas aa raha hai," (I'm too lazy to wash the clothes,) she pouted, her eyes drifting to our buckets full of laundry sitting by the door. They looked more like punishment buckets. Just looking at them made my body feel heavier.

I groaned. "Dhone toh padenge," (We'll have to wash them anyway.) I muttered, then promptly closed my eyes again, pretending that laundry was just a bad dream I could wake up from.

"Yaar, ye log washing machine kyun nahi dete?" (Why don't they give us washing machines?) she asked, her voice full of dramatic frustration. That girl had the flair for making even washing clothes sound like the world's greatest injustice.

I cracked one eye open, barely holding back a smile. "Free mein padha rahe hain, facilities ki ummed mat rakhna," (We're getting educated for free, don't expect extra facilities.) I chuckled. Honestly, we girls could complain about anything and everything. It was practically our favorite pastime—like a bonding ritual.

Mahi sighed deeply, slumping back against her pillows. "Accha haa... waise kal ki duties laga de sabki," (By the way, have you assigned everyone's duties for tomorrow?)

Oh God. Duties.

My least favorite word. I stretched, yawning as I dragged myself out of bed with all the enthusiasm of a sloth. "Mujhe hi kyu karna hi padta hai yeh sab." (Ugh, why do I have to do all this?) I muttered under my breath, half to myself, half to the universe.

The main door was just a few steps away. I pulled it open, and it swung into a small room we called the "guest room." Now, this wasn't some cozy place meant for casual hangouts. Nope. It was strictly for when parents came to visit, except on the first Sunday of the month, because obviously, they had to make everything super organized. Moms would sit there and chat with their daughters, but otherwise, it was basically an unused space.

Opposite to our main door was the infamous duty board, plastered right on the wall of the guest room. The wall of doom, I liked to call it. All 28 of our names were lined up in neat little rows, and across the top were the dreaded duties—each written in different colors, like they were trying to make chores look fun. Spoiler: they weren't. Just looking at it made me yawn again. Time to get to work.

The sliders were my worst enemy. As captain, it was my job to slide them along the columns, assigning each of us our fates. Once your name was next to a task, you were doomed for the day. No excuses, no skipping.

Mahi wasn't allowed to touch the mic or anyone else. Only me. That little power as captain made all the hassle of duties a tiny bit more bearable, though. I slid the final name into place and picked up the mic, my voice echoing through the room like the voice of fate itself.

"Toilet cleaning—Varsha. Bathroom cleaning—Preeti. Passage cleaning—Aadhya. Dormitory cleaning—Ravika and Mahi. Rishika, you'll take care of all the garbage, and Laiba, the veranda is yours."

Then, I paused, glancing at the last task on the list. Leave picking. Of course.

"And leave-picking duty... Saher."

SAHER.

My own name echoed back at me. Ugh. Why me? Why was I doing this to myself? Of all the days, Thursday. I wanted to scream, throw the mic, anything. But alas. Duty calls. Even when you're the one assigning it.

"Tomorrow, before class, everyone needs to be done with their duties!" I added one last announcement with zero enthusiasm before putting down the mic and slumping onto my bed like I'd just run a marathon. On my stomach, arms and legs stretched out, I groaned into my pillow.

"Mahi, mujhe bhi aaj kapde dhone ka bilkul mann nahi hai," (Mahi, I really don't feel like washing these clothes today either,) I mumbled.

From her bed, Mahi turned her head to the side, her face just as lazy and annoyed as mine. "Yaar, ye kapde gande kyu ho jaatein hai?" (Why do these clothes even get dirty?)

We both just lay there, staring at each other, making faces. We didn't need words; we were too tired for that.

But, let's be real—no matter how much we whine, we're still going to end up doing it.

With a sudden burst of annoyance, I stood up on my bed, towering over the rows of beds stretched across the dormitory. My eyes traveled all the way down to the far end where the washing area door stood like the gateway to hell.

"Anamika!" I shouted, spotting the poor girl whose bed was closest to the door.

"Yes dii!" she called back, always the polite one.

"Kapde dhone ke liye jagah khali hone mein kitna time lagega?" (How much longer until there's space to wash clothes?) I asked, hoping the answer was "now" so I could just get this over with.

"Vicharun yete" (Asking) she yelled back in Marathi.

Oops. Right. She's Marathi. I always forget. I snorted to myself, shaking my head. Classic me. I lay back down, settling in for what I hoped would be my final attempt at relaxing.

Of course, that's when Twinkle and Diksha came crashing into our dorm like they owned the place. They didn't even live here—they were from the other dormitory. Of course, they had to come through the washing area, since it connects both dorms. It's like there's no escape from that place.

"Hey, Mahi! Saher!" they yelled, way too excited for this time of day.

I barely opened my eyes, squinting at them with pure exhaustion. My eyelids felt heavy, and honestly, my eyes were probably red from all the sleep I wasn't getting. Great. Mahi didn't look any better, her face mirroring my own tired disbelief.

"Tum dono wapas chale jao," (You two should just go back home,) I muttered, more of a plea than a command. Closing my eyes again, I hoped they'd magically disappear.

"Haan, please jao yaar," (Yeah, please go,) Mahi added, sounding just as done with them as I was.

But instead of getting the hint, Twinkle plopped down right onto my bed, and Diksha did the same on Mahi's bed. Of course. Because why would they leave when they could make themselves comfortable right here?

Twinkle and Diksha were our bench partners in class, so it wasn't like we could ever really escape them. They were always there. Diksha, being the caretaker of her house, handled things on her side. To be honest, she helped me out since I couldn't manage both houses on my own. Twinkle was her right-hand person, the vice-captain, just like Mahi was mine.

The thing is, the four of us had this weird, unspoken routine. We always ended up washing clothes together, waiting until everyone else was done. Why? I don't know. It just happened. It wasn't like we were best friends or anything. In fact, sometimes we couldn't stand each other. But ever since fifth grade, when we were stuck in the same dormitory, it became a habit. The four of us, grumbling about life and laundry.

Even though we didn't always get along, and it was all kind of complicated, somehow, we were still doing this together. Like a dysfunctional little team.

Team? Whatever...

I mean, it's messy... but what part of life isn't?

When do you guys wash your hair?

Do you have any funny memories related to your hair washing day?

To be honest, I love my hair the same day after washing, but many girls don't like their hair until the next day after washing. What about you?

Rehaan is getting more into her space, isn't he?

What do you think? Who sent the pumpkin, Rehaan, Kabir, or the note guy?

Why was the pumpkin crying, by the way? Is he acting, or was this little kid really scared of scary Saher or the scary principal?

But Saher was nice to him (pumpkin) today, don't you think?

You have to wait for Rehaan's POV; it's a little special, so you all will find out later.