The steel plate lay untouched.
The hostel food smelled of boiled onions again, and Aanya had no strength left to pretend she could handle it. Her roommate chatted on the phone in the background, laughing loudly. Another girl was crying quietly in the corner of the room.
Aanya didn't know which one she related to more.
She sighed and pulled the blanket over her legs. Second year was over. One more year of this life. It was supposed to make her stronger, independent… but lately, all it made her feel was tired.
The walls felt like they were pushing in on her. Too many voices. Too little warmth.
"I want to go home," she whispered to herself.
Not just for holidays — truly, deeply… she didn't want to come back here anymore.
---
Three days later, the train pulled into the dusty platform of her hometown.
Her father stood waiting in a white shirt that had become slightly loose over the years, waving with tired but happy eyes. Aanya smiled weakly and walked into his hug.
"Lost more weight, did you?" he asked, holding her at arm's length.
"Lost my appetite," she replied, with a half-smile.
He didn't ask further. He knew.
At home, her mother had made poori and potato curry. Real food. Real silence. Real comfort. Aanya ate like she hadn't eaten in days. Because she hadn't — not properly.
That night, after dinner, her parents sat with her in the hall as the fan creaked above them. Her mother looked at her fingers. Her father looked at her face.
And Aanya finally spoke.
---
"I can't do it anymore," she said, softly. "The food… the place… everything. I tried, Papa. I really tried."
Her voice cracked just enough.
"I thought I'd adjust. Everyone said I would. But I haven't. I'm not happy there."
Her father was quiet for a long moment.
Then he said, "You remember Mehra uncle's family? His son… Aryan… you've met him, right?"
Aanya's heart skipped.
But she didn't show it.
She looked at him, pretending to think. "A little."
"They're in the same city now. Aryan built a house there — a decent one. You know how much I helped their family when Mehra ji passed away. They've always said—if we ever needed anything…"
Her mother added gently, "We can ask them, beta. Not permanently. Just until you're comfortable again."
Aanya swallowed.
This was what she wanted. Not because of the food. Not because of the hostel.
Because of him.
And yet, she stayed quiet.
---
Later that night, when Aanya had gone to her room, her father stepped out onto the veranda. The moonlight poured across the plants. He took out his phone, scrolled to a number he hadn't dialed in a long time, and called.
It rang twice.
"Hello?" came a warm voice.
"Namaste, bhabhi ji," he said, smiling. "It's been a long time."
"A long time, indeed," Aryan's mother replied.
He hesitated. Then said, "Actually… I needed a small favor."
---
Inside her room, Aanya lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling.
She didn't know the exact words being exchanged outside. But she knew what the call was about.
Her stomach twisted — a strange mix of nerves and excitement.
She was going back to the same city. But this time, not into hostel walls.
This time… into the house where he lived.
Aryan.
The name still made something shift quietly inside her.
She had waited long enough.
And now… it was beginning.
---
🧡 End of Chapter 1