The next morning, I woke up at five, but not because of my alarm. Again. It didn't ring. I opened my eyes groggily to find Shivani di gently shaking my shoulder.
"Nila… wake up. It's five."
I sat up, dazed, blinking against the yellow dorm light. That same sinking feeling returned—the same one I'd felt yesterday. My alarm hadn't rung again. Not yesterday. Not today. I knew I had set it. I even double-checked it last night before I changed into my nightdress. I wasn't someone who forgets things like that.
A cold frustration settled in my chest.
This wasn't forgetfulness anymore. Someone was deliberately messing with me.
I clenched my jaw and muttered a soft thank you to Shivani di. She noticed my sour mood but didn't comment. I dragged myself to the yoga mat. I wasn't in the mood for Surya Namaskar. Every muscle in my body groaned, not from soreness but from sheer irritation. But Amma always said, "skip once, and it becomes easy to skip again." So I went through the motions, my breath ragged, my mind cluttered with thoughts.
After my half-hearted yoga, I waited for Shivani di to finish her bath and went in after her. The cold splash didn't cool my temper, but it grounded me. By the time we were ready and heading toward the canteen to collect milk, the hostel was beginning to stir.
We both carried our mini flasks, walking side by side under the soft glow of the hostel corridor lights. The air was still cool, the kind of morning chill that wouldn't last past the assembly bell.
I hesitated a moment, then asked in a low voice, "Di… did you notice something weird?"
Shivani looked at me with mild curiosity. "About what?"
"My alarm," I whispered. "It didn't ring today either. Yesterday too. But I set it… both times. Someone's tampering with it."
Shivani frowned, thinking. Then she said slowly, "You know, we sleep earlier than the others. The girls in our dorm stay up really late. Maybe someone's trying to pull a prank. Day before yesterday… I think I saw someone standing near your bed. But I was half asleep, so I thought it was just a dream."
I stared at her.
She continued, "Better be careful. Start keeping your things inside the cupboard before bed. Lock it too. Just in case something goes missing."
I nodded, my lips pressed into a thin line. It wasn't just about the alarm anymore. This was crossing into something else—petty, maybe, but personal.
We returned to our cabin, both quiet. It was laundry day—Tuesday—and like every week, Shivani di and I spent a few minutes folding and stacking our clothes neatly near our cupboards. I found a strange comfort in the routine, my hands smoothing over freshly washed kurtas and tucking socks into pairs.
Once everything was in place, I packed my bag for the day, double-checked if I had my ID, science and French notebooks, and slipped out quietly while most of the others were still getting ready.
Better early than late.
And definitely better away from the crowd, for now.
By the time I reached class, the corridors were still mostly empty, with just the faint sounds of broomsticks swishing in the distance and a sleepy crow somewhere cawing like it regretted waking up. I always liked this time—the calm before the chaos. Today, I needed it even more. After everything that happened this morning with the alarm, I just wanted some peace.
I slid into my bench and took a deep breath. The light slanted in through the tall windows, turning the dust motes golden. I placed my bag on the side and rested my chin on my hand, letting my mind drift. The classroom smelled like old wood, chalk, and faint floor cleaner. I liked this smell. It reminded me of fresh starts.
Two minutes later, footsteps echoed in the corridor, and someone slid into the seat beside mine.
"First again?" Nishanth grinned, balancing his water bottle on one finger for a second before letting it drop onto the desk.
I nodded. "Habit."
He leaned back in his chair. "Peaceful, no? This time of the day. I was just thinking… if only we had some good music playing softly in the background, this would be perfect."
I blinked. "Exactly what I was thinking just now."
We looked at each other and laughed.
"Any particular music?" he asked.
"Hmm… honestly? I've been into Hip Hop Tamizha lately. Especially that 'Club le Mabbu le' song. It just lifts the whole mood."
He lit up. "Same! That song's been stuck in my head for days. I even got scolded at home for humming it during pooja time."
I laughed. "Relatable. Amma gave me a look when I started doing thoppukaranam in rhythm."
He chuckled. "But you know what I can't believe?"
"What?"
"That Aadhi—the same guy who wrote 'Club le Mabbu le'—also wrote 'Oxygen'. Have you heard it?"
I paused. "Yeah. That's the one with the heavy, emotional vibes, right? About breathing and pain and—"
"Yeah! It's like night and day. One is full-on gaana party mode, and the other… makes you feel like you're drowning in your thoughts. Like… whoa, same guy?"
He said it with such earnest surprise that I smiled. But a tiny flicker of something stirred inside me.
"Sometimes," I said slowly, "it's like the same person has two lives. One they show to the world. The other… more private. Real."
He looked at me for a second too long. Then he shrugged. "Yeah. Or maybe it's the same life, just different timelines."
I laughed. "What does that even mean?"
He grinned and turned to open his notebook. "Nothing. Just random philosophy for a sleepy morning."
I didn't think much of it then. It just felt like one of those early morning deep conversations that didn't make much sense once the bell rang. But something about the way he said it—different timelines—stuck with me for a second before I pushed it aside.
Soon, the noise level in the hallway picked up. I could hear girls laughing, some boys shouting about yesterday's cricket match, and the telltale clatter of shoes being taken off before entering class.
Our quiet bubble popped.
More students began filling the classroom, and someone called my name from the front bench. I turned, gave a quick reply, and by the time I looked back, Nishanth had moved two rows back to talk to his gang.
I opened my notebook but didn't read.
Different timelines, he'd said. Something is not right. This is not what I should be clinging to right now, but I can't point out what I'm missing.
Maybe I was overthinking it. Or maybe… I wasn't.
Either way, the day was just beginning. And like always, I had more than enough to handle before the lunch bell rang.
The rest of the day passed in its usual rhythm—bells ringing, teachers entering and leaving, and notebooks being filled with hurried scribbles. I kept my head down and stayed focused.
Every class, I made it a point to revise the concept immediately in the last five minutes, even if the teacher was still going on. I wasn't being disrespectful—it's just that I've learned the hard way: you can't rely entirely on the system.
In my last life, this school was the place where my grades began to slip. Not because I didn't care, but because I couldn't adapt fast enough. The teachers had their own way of teaching, and the pace never suited me. By the time I caught up with one lesson, the next test was already announced. I was always running, panting behind a train that never waited.
But not in this life.
This time, I had an edge—an odd one, maybe, but a strong one. I was technically a twenty-five-year-old woman trapped in a teenager's body, armed with a postgraduate degree, life experience, and all the emotional scars that came with them. I couldn't afford to repeat old mistakes.
I decided: I'd tailor-make a study plan for myself.
The teachers could remain as additional support. They'd teach, sure—but it was up to me to ensure I learned. I wasn't going to let their pace decide my understanding anymore. I'd take what I needed from the classroom and build the rest myself.
So, during the 3:30 to 4:30 evening study hour, while everyone else was copying notes or silently trying to remember random paragraphs, I spread out my rough notebook and began designing my custom schedule.
I made three sections: one for subjects that needed deep understanding, like Science and French; another for practice-heavy ones like Maths and Grammar; and a final one for memory-based subjects like History and Biology.
I wrote down how many hours I'd need each week, and how I could sneak in revision during evening prep or early mornings. I even planned 30-minute sessions on Sundays for recap.
I was halfway through drawing a mini-timetable with boxes and colored dots when I felt a shadow fall over my desk.
"You planning to become the class topper or take over NASA?" Nishanth asked, plopping down beside me with an amused grin.
I rolled my eyes. "Neither. Just trying to stay sane."
He looked at my page. "Whoa. This is serious."
"It has to be. I'm not leaving things to chance this time."
"Fair enough," he said, but then tilted his head. "You sound like someone who's already lived this whole school life before."
I stilled for a second, but then gave him a light smile. "Maybe I'm just good at learning from mistakes."
He nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "That's rare."
I shrugged and returned to my page, not trusting myself to say anything else.
He didn't press further. Just sat there for a few minutes longer, tapping his pen on the desk before walking back to his place.
I looked at the colored boxes I had drawn.
This wasn't just a plan. It was a promise to myself.