Sunlight cracked through the blinds, dragging me out of sleep. 5 am, the clock screamed. College started at 9, but these early mornings were my thing. A quick grunt escaped my lips as I threw on my running shoes and hit the pavement for a pre-dawn jog. By the time I got back, endorphins were pulsing through my veins, and I launched into my exercise routine. Breakfast, however, became a casualty of my efficiency. I choked down a granola bar and bolted out the door, already a few bites behind schedule.

Reaching campus, I spotted familiar figures by the bike racks – Ishan, his lanky frame draped casually over a skateboard, and Ahana, her fiery red hair bouncing as she chatted animatedly. My partners in crime. The masterminds behind our legendary "sweet teasing" rituals, a term some might argue was a euphemism for gentle ragging.

"There he is, the breakfast skipper!" Ishan boomed, his voice echoing across the now-bustling parking lot.

I grinned, flinging my half-eaten granola bar at him, which he dodged with a laugh. "Don't be jealous, just join the early-bird club," I retorted, slinging my backpack onto my shoulder.

Ahana rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right. The only birds you're up with are the ones chirping their annoyance at your running route."

Our banter continued as we walked, the sound of our laughter attracting curious stares from freshmen. Suddenly, I spotted them – two wide-eyed first-years, clutching identical backpacks decorated with cartoon dinosaurs. Targets.

"Incoming freshies!" Ahana nudged me, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

I launched into my well-rehearsed routine. "Hey there, brave adventurers! First day in the land of lectures and late-night study sessions, eh?"

The freshmen exchanged nervous glances. "Uh, hi?" one of them stammered.

Ahana took over. "Don't worry, little ones. We, the benevolent upperclassmen, are here to guide you through the treacherous halls of knowledge."

Ishan chimed in, his voice dropping to a mock-serious whisper. "Beware the cafeteria lady with the mystery meat lasagna! And whatever you do, don't make eye contact with the pigeons – they're trained spies for the dean!"

The freshmen, unsure whether to be scared or amused, fumbled for a response. Seeing their discomfort, I ended the charade with a wink.

"Relax, guys. We're just messing with you. Welcome to college!"

The first-years, visibly relieved, managed a shaky smile. As they walked away, Ahana nudged me again.

"Easy there, tiger. Don't traumatize them on their first day."

I chuckled. "Just a little initiation. Builds character, right?"

We reached the lecture hall, the playful teasing forgotten for the moment. My eyes scanned the room, landing on Meera, my childhood friend. She was nestled in the front row, surrounded by a group of new friends. She caught my eye and offered a small, hesitant smile. A pang of disappointment hit me. Why did she seem so distant here at college?

The next two lectures were a blur of droning voices and dry notes. I fidgeted in my seat, my mind constantly drifting back to Meera's cool reception. Finally, the bell rang, a sweet melody that signaled freedom.

"Bunking the next two?" Ishan asked, already packing his bag.

I glanced at Meera, who was now deeply engrossed in conversation with her new group. With a sigh, I nodded. "Let's go. Maybe some fresh air will help clear my head."

Cricket practice was my sanctuary. Bunking classes? Maybe. But messing with my cricket schedule? Never. It was the one place where everything else faded away, replaced by the satisfying crack of willow on leather and the camaraderie of my teammates.

Exhausted but exhilarated, I dragged myself home, muscles pleasantly sore. A quick refuel on protein and carbs, and I retreated to the familiar haven of my room. Through the half-open door, I saw Meera pacing restlessly in her room, a book clutched in her hand. She was still the same Meera – a whirlwind of energy even in repose. A smile tugged at my lips as our eyes met. She waved, her tiny hands making a jerky greeting. I waved back, a warmth spreading through me at the simple gesture.

Grabbing a pen and a book, I scribbled a question on a blank page: "What are you reading?"

She grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and picked up a dry-erase marker. With practiced ease, she wrote across her whiteboard: "Just stupid rom-com."

I chuckled, the sound muffled by the familiar walls of our shared room. Another note followed: "Yeah, Stupid."

Her reply was quick: "How was practice?"

A surge of pride filled me as I wrote back: "The best part of the day."

She beamed, and her marker danced across the board: "Great. Gotta go, mom's calling." With a final wave, she disappeared from my line of sight.

I set the book down with a sigh. This silent conversation, this exchange of notes, was our way. A language born out of necessity, it had become a comfortable routine, a secret code between us.

Just as a peaceful silence settled in, the unmistakable rumble of Dad's car shattered the quiet. He was home. And like clockwork, moments later, the unmistakable sounds of a heated argument filtered through the thin walls. Mom and Dad, at it again. It was their daily ritual – his return from a business trip heralded by raised voices and slammed doors.

Frustration bubbled up inside me. Couldn't they just have one day of peace? Grabbing my headphones, I cranked up the volume on my phone, Punjabi music drowning out the sounds of their discord. Squeezing my eyes shut, I willed myself to sleep, the familiar rhythm of the music a feeble attempt to block out the storm raging next door.

My mom's voice, laced with a hint of forced cheer, drifted through the door. "Dinner's ready, Shubman!" I mumbled a response, shoving my headphones back in their place as the music faded. Downstairs, I made a show of eating, the tension in the house choking down my appetite. Retreating to my room, I felt a surge of restlessness.

A glance out the window revealed Meera pacing on her terrace, a book abandoned on the railing. She looked stressed, chewing on her lower lip. A smile tugged at my lips. Maybe a change of scenery would do us both good.

Quietly, I slipped out onto our shared terrace. A low wall separated our spaces, easily scaled in a single bound. I perched myself comfortably, the familiar view calming my racing thoughts.

Meera's head snapped up as I landed with a soft thud. "Oh, geez, Shubman! You scared the life out of me!"

I couldn't help but laugh. "Sorry, Meera! Didn't mean to spook you." Patting the space beside me, I invited, "Come sit."

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes flitting between me and the house next door, before finally settling down with a sigh. We sat in companionable silence for a moment, the soft murmur of the city providing a comfortable background hum.

"Did you hear about Tanmay?" Meera blurted, breaking the silence. "He ran away with Shruti!"

My eyebrows shot up. This was juicy gossip. "Really? Wasn't Shruti supposed to be going steady with Raj? And didn't Tanmay have a fiancee back in his hometown?"

Meera nodded, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Yep! Apparently, they've been seeing each other for months! The whole neighborhood is in a tizzy."

We spent the next few minutes dissecting the latest small-town scandal, weaving theories and laughing at the absurdity of it all. As the laughter subsided, a comfortable silence settled between us once more. But this time, it felt different, charged with an unspoken tension.

I took a deep breath, finally voicing the question that had been gnawing at me all day. "Why don't you talk to me in college, Meera? You're like a different person there."

Her smile faltered, and she quickly broke eye contact, staring intently at a distant point on the horizon. "I'm not the one who's different in college, Shubman," she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper.

Before I could press for an explanation, she stood up abruptly. "I should get going. Goodnight, Shubi." A quick flash of her familiar smile, and then she was gone, disappearing back inside her house.

Left alone on the wall, I stared after her, a knot of frustration tightening in my gut. "That's bullshit," I muttered, the words heavy with unspoken hurt. Pushing myself to my feet, I retreated back into my room, the unanswered question echoing in the silence.

Back in my room, frustration simmered beneath the surface. I needed a distraction, a way to blow off steam. Reaching for my phone, I opened our group chat - aptly named "The Masters of Mischief."

Ishan 

DUDEEES!! Did you guys SEE the new freshman? She's smokin' hot! 🔥

Ahana 

Ugh Don't even start, Ishan. Totally out of your league.😂

Me 

We can do our sweet intro tomorrow 😉

Ishan

Nooo way! You can't bully your future Bhabhi like that! ❤️

Ahana 

🙄🙄Ugh, here we go again with the delusions, Ishan.

Me 

Delulu much, Ishan? 😂😂

Ahana 

Maybe Shubman should ask her out?👀👀

Me 

Nah, I don't do that dating crap. It's all BS anyway.

Truth was, the idea of dating never held much appeal. It all seemed so complicated, so...fake. Flirting, awkward silences, pretending to be someone you weren't - it just wasn't my style. 

Leaving my response hanging, I tossed my phone onto the bed. The carefree facade I presented to my friends felt like a cheap mask right now. What was going on with Meera? Why the cold shoulder at college?

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Ahh This was my first time doing like a chat or message conversations. It's fun but kinda challenging to do so.

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