When I opened my eyes that morning, something was different. For a moment, I couldn't even see the plain white ceiling I was used to waking up to. Instead, a soft, rose-tinted glow greeted me. I blinked once. Then again.
The mirror work on the pink dupatta above my bed caught the early light streaming through the window, scattering tiny reflections all over the wall like dancing stars. The whole thing had formed a delicate canopy over my bed, fluttering slightly with the fan breeze.
For a second, I didn't feel like a schoolgirl living in a dorm. I felt like a princess waking up under a royal tent. I just lay there smiling to myself. It was silly, but I didn't want the moment to end.
But it was Freshers Day. A big day.
So I threw off the blanket, got up quickly, and completed my yoga without my usual reluctance. I took a long shower, letting the cool water calm me, and tied my hair up neatly. After changing into a fresh uniform and applying a little moisturizer—just because it was a special day—I returned to my bed.
The dupatta looked even more beautiful in the morning light. I stood for a moment, admiring the fine hand embroidery, the tiny mirror pieces that had dried perfectly in place. No mess. No glue marks. It had dried overnight like magic.
Just as I was about to untie one side, I noticed Sashtika walking by, balancing her cup and hairbrush like she always did.
"Hey!" I called out softly.
She paused and turned. "What's up?"
"Help me unwrap the canopy?" I grinned.
She walked over with a smile, gently holding one end of the dupatta while I untied the threads from the other side. We handled it like it was made of glass. No tugs. No rush. Once it was down, I laid it carefully on my bed and folded it slowly, tucking it into the cotton bag I'd kept ready for it.
"We won't need it till evening," I said more to myself than her.
"True," Sashtika replied. "Want to get milk?"
"Yeah. Let's go before the breakfast crowd hits."
We slipped out and walked to the cafeteria slowly, enjoying the rare quiet of a fresh morning. The usual rush hadn't begun yet. Just a few juniors with sleepy eyes and messy braids were standing in line for their milk.
We took our mugs and sat at one of the corner tables. It had the best view of the school ground, where the stage and seating arrangements were probably being set up.
"How do you think today's celebration will go?" I asked, stirring a spoonful of sugar into my milk.
"I think it'll be a mess at first," Sashtika said without hesitation. "It always is. Late announcements, last-minute costume panic, someone missing a prop."
I laughed. "That's kind of true."
"But then," she added, sipping her milk, "somehow it always comes together. Everyone claps, someone cries, the warden says something emotional. You know the drill."
I smiled. "I want it to be good. I don't know why, but this year it feels… special."
"Because you're in the middle of everything," she said. "You're not just watching this time—you're actually in it."
I nodded. She was right. For once, I wasn't just someone in the crowd. I was helping build something. Dance. Magazine. Website. BTS. It wasn't about showing off. It was about feeling part of it all. Like I belonged here.
Sashtika finished her milk and stood up. "Come on. Let's survive class before the real fun begins."
I looked at my watch. Still some time left before the morning bell. But I knew the rest of the day would move fast—costumes, rehearsals, tech checks, and chaos.
And at the center of it all… a pink dupatta, waiting to shine.
After finishing our milk, Sashtika and I left the cafeteria and walked slowly toward the steps that led to the girls' dorm on the first floor. The sun had started to peek through the clouds, casting soft yellow patches across the school yard. The excitement in the air was starting to thicken—every face we passed seemed a little more energetic than usual, as if the whole campus was humming with anticipation.
As we turned the corner near the corridor that connected the main building to the staircase, I spotted Nishanth leaning casually against a pillar, adjusting the sleeves of his maroon kurta. It wasn't over-the-top, but he did look like he had put in effort today.
He straightened up when he saw me. "What's the plan?" he asked, grinning.
"For?" I raised an eyebrow, pretending not to understand even though I absolutely did.
"For the grand backstage operations, obviously," he said, falling into step beside me as I kept walking. "Before we reach the lab, do you need us to do anything? Final checks, last-minute errands, checklist updates?"
I gave him a look that said good thinking but kept my voice light. "Right. Check with all the performance participants from the boys' side—make sure everyone knows their queue, what time they have to report near the side wings, and if possible, keep the event schedule sheet by heart. That way, we don't have to rely on announcements or paper during the chaos."
"Got it," he said, nodding seriously for once. "Anything else?"
"No," I said after thinking for a second. "Just… have fun with your performance. Don't stress too much about the tech side. I'll cover things from the lab till the program starts."
Nishanth gave me a dramatic look. "Be ready to be awed by me. I've added a surprise element."
I smirked. "You know, you can't impress me that easily."
He tilted his head, eyes twinkling. "I'll take that as a challenge."
I shook my head with a smile and waved him off as we reached the foot of the staircase. He walked toward the auditorium while I headed up to the dorm to grab my bag and notes.
Back in the room, I quickly checked on the pink dupatta one last time, still safely tucked in the cotton bag. A part of me still couldn't believe we had pulled it off in time. My roommates were busy laying out their outfits and pinning name tags to their kurtas. Everyone had their own nervous excitement radiating like heat from a fire.
I changed into my formal kurta set, packed my event checklist, signed permission slip, and our BTS journal, then headed down to the computer lab. By the time I reached, it was already buzzing.
Inside the lab, Nishanth was already at his seat, talking to one of the juniors who was helping coordinate the lighting and tech for the stage. He looked up and nodded at me as I walked in.
We got straight to work—checking the pages we had created for the demo magazine site, organizing the photo placeholders, finalizing the headers, and adding title texts to each event section. I had written short descriptions for every group's preparation effort—details from our BTS interviews that gave the site personality, not just content.
Nishanth handled the layout part, selecting warm, vibrant themes that matched the festive energy of the evening. We debated for five whole minutes about the homepage background—he wanted a wide-angle picture of the auditorium, and I insisted on a blurred stage shot with a bold title. In the end, we layered both.
We worked like a real team—not competing, just moving in rhythm, each one anticipating the other's next step. It didn't even feel like work.
At one point, he asked, "How did you get everyone to open up so easily during the BTS interviews?"
I shrugged. "I just listened. When someone feels heard, they talk more than you expect."
He nodded slowly. "You'd make a good editor."
"Maybe," I said, half-laughing. "But only if I have a designer who doesn't argue for five minutes over every colour."
We both laughed.
By 11:30, everything was nearly set. The homepage looked like a real magazine intro. A few articles were ready, a photo album section was formatted to be updated later, and we even had a "Meet the Team" tab that had our names under Student Creators. That one made me feel oddly proud.
Sir walked in just as we were doing the final alignment check. He looked at the screen, gave us a small nod of approval, and said, "Good work. Now save everything in three places. No tech disasters today."
We followed instructions. Twice.
As we packed up the files and backed everything to a shared drive, I looked at the screen again—our project, our effort, our voice. Not many people would even know who made this site unless they really looked.
But that was okay.
Some things didn't need to be shouted out loud to be felt.