After the program ended, the auditorium slowly began to empty out as students followed instructions from the wardens and moved out in lines. But tonight was not like any usual night.
Dinner wasn't served in the hostel canteen as it normally was. Instead, they had arranged everything in one of the school playgrounds, converting the open space into a festive buffet-style dining area. The lights were brighter than usual, decorative strings hanging from bamboo poles, and the aroma of rich food was enough to make everyone rush through the line-up rules.
Today's dinner menu wasn't the standard sambar-rice and chapati. It was a treat. Naan with paneer butter masala, mild but flavorful pulao, fried rice that actually had enough vegetables in it, crispy manchurian balls tossed in sauce, and noodles that smelled like they belonged in a fast-food stall. For dessert, there were soft gulab jamuns soaked in syrup, fruit salad with ice cream melting on top. The menu wasn't extensive, but it didn't need to be—every single item was a student favorite.
As soon as Nila got the chance, she left Nishanth and Computer Sir near the stage area and rushed to join her girls. The cultural event had gone well, their performance had been a success, and now it was time to enjoy the reward.
Even though there was no written rule anywhere stating that boys and girls shouldn't mix during such events, everyone knew the unwritten rule. An invisible boundary separated the boys' and girls' dining sections. You could look across, maybe wave discreetly—but you couldn't sit together, talk casually, or even stand in a mixed group for long.
Multiple CCTV cameras blinked silently in the corners of the field, mounted on poles, and the wardens' sharp eyes scanned the crowd constantly. Even teachers patrolled the area with their arms folded, offering polite nods to the students but also making sure no one crossed any lines.
So, like everyone else, Nila stayed on her side of the boundary. But she didn't mind. She was with her girls, who were still flushed with excitement from their performance. They had changed out of their costumes into comfortable kurtis but were still wearing bits of leftover glitter and lipstick, which somehow made everything more fun. Plates in hand, they walked along the buffet line, giggling and nudging each other over who was taking too many gulab jamuns or avoiding the fruit salad.
This wasn't just dinner. It felt like a celebration.
And somewhere deep inside, Nila felt a quiet joy rising. The performance was a success, the magazine got its first step of approval, and for tonight, just for tonight—everything felt like it was falling into place.
Tonight, Nila felt closer to success than ever before. Not just in the floating, hopeful kind of way, but like something real was within reach. The kind of success she could see forming shape and structure. She just needed to craft the right presentation strategy for the school management. If they approved it—if—this wouldn't just be a good beginning. It would be a great one. A solid, done deal.
Tomorrow was Sunday. That meant she and Nishanth could finally sit down without interruption and work together as a proper team. Thankfully, he had already taken care of the website's rough draft—something she still hadn't had time to fully look through yet. And as for her part, she had written a few articles earlier that morning in the lab when no one had disturbed her.
They weren't fully polished, and she wasn't even sure how the alignment or layout would turn out once they uploaded them. But those articles mattered. They captured something precious—how the teachers, wardens, and even the students had felt during the run-up to the fresher's day program. Small moments. Excitement. Tension. Little triumphs and collective effort. It was a perspective often overlooked, but deeply human.
And now, after everything she had seen tonight—the performances, the energy, the faces glowing under stage lights—she had even more content swirling in her mind. She'd taken notes backstage between each event, but those weren't final drafts. They were just raw thoughts, sparks waiting to be shaped.
What she needed now was to keep those notes safe and transform them into finished articles. Since she couldn't access the lab tomorrow, she'd have to resort to beautiful handwritten drafts. It wouldn't be a bad thing, actually. Writing by hand helped her slow down, connect to the words better. And knowing that Nishanth had already promised to handle all the digital work took a load off her shoulders. He even mentioned he'd ask his warden for permission to use his personal laptop—just for a few hours—to start editing and pairing the performance pictures with her articles.
All this ran through her mind as she stood in the buffet queue, inching forward. She was next. She sighed. Buffets with crowded plates always irritated her. People piling food like they'd never see it again. She smiled to herself, stepped forward, and served herself with her usual calm efficiency—two pieces of naan, a decent serving of paneer butter masala, and a small scoop of pulao. That was enough for now. She'd come back for the Chinese items—fried rice, noodles, and manchurian—once the line thinned out.
Holding her plate carefully, she scanned the field and spotted her girls. They stood in a semi-circle under one of the bright outdoor lights, laughing, chatting, and eating with the kind of happiness that only came after a job well done.
Nila headed toward them, weaving through groups of students, smiling softly to herself. She felt warm, not from the food, but from the fire of purpose inside her. She wasn't just living through fresher's day. She was documenting it, building something from it. And as her girls pulled her into their circle and teased her about the "healthy" plate she had chosen, she knew this was only the beginning of something much bigger.
Soon, Nila stopped being the dreamer—the one constantly planning articles, mentally arranging photographs, obsessing over presentation slides—and finally let herself sink into the present moment. She started to blend in with everyone else, not as an outsider observing for a magazine, but as one of them—laughing, chatting, teasing. She complimented the other girls on how they had styled their costumes so creatively with such limited resources. Even with basic accessories and borrowed makeup, they had pulled off something beautiful. She praised how every group had given their best on stage. Together, they recounted which performance received the loudest cheer, which beat made the entire auditorium pulse with energy.
The folk mash-up had clearly been the winner. When Kaasu Panam blasted through the speakers, even the shyest students couldn't help tapping their feet. And Nishanth and his group pulling out the surprise lungi reveal had been the cherry on top. The laughter, the cheers—it all echoed even now in the post-performance calm of the dinner crowd.
Soon, Nila and Jai Harini decided to go for their second round of dinner. Harini had a clear agenda—she was there only for the sweets. "I saved space in my stomach just for this," she grinned.
Nila's plate from the first round looked almost brand new, like it hadn't held food at all. If not for the faint orange stain left behind by the paneer butter masala, anyone seeing her plate would've assumed she was queuing up for her first serving. She quietly picked up her plate and joined the line again, chatting casually with Harini.
But as they waited, the whispers began. Not loud. Not confrontational. But clear enough to reach her ears.
"Wow, she's looking good in that half-saree… bright color too."
"But what did she even do? She didn't perform on stage."
"Exactly. Then why dress up like that?"
"I think she just wanted attention."
"Isn't she a fresher too? But I saw her working backstage with the staff."
"Only seniors usually get that kind of access, right?"
"Like I said—attention grabber."
Harini's hands curled into fists. Her lips parted, ready to throw a sharp reply. But before she could, Nila reached out and gently held her wrist, giving her a small shake of the head. Her eyes said it all—Don't waste your breath on them.
Nila didn't believe in reacting to cowardice. Gossip whispered behind her back, disguised as idle curiosity, didn't deserve the dignity of a response. Let them think she dressed for attention. Let them wonder what she was doing backstage. In time, her actions would speak louder than all of their shallow assumptions.
She had no interest in proving herself to people who didn't matter in the bigger picture.
By the time it was their turn to serve, Nila had already brushed off the sting of those words. Her appetite wasn't going to suffer just because someone else couldn't handle seeing a girl in a half-saree doing something different.
She filled her plate with her second-round picks—a big serving of fried rice, crispy manchurian balls tossed in sauce, and a small serving noodles,two soft gulab jamuns swimming in syrup, a neat scoop of vanilla ice cream, and a generous helping of fruit salad. As she walked back with Harini, she didn't look around to see who was still whispering. She didn't need to. She had more important things to focus on.
Fill your tummy first, she told herself. Then use your brainpower where it's actually needed. On strategy. On writing. On tomorrow's plans. On the Monday presentation that might change everything.
Let the cowards talk.
She had no time for anything less than purpose.