"Nishanth," I called before he could pack up his bag, "do you have any idea about the boys participating in Freshers' Day?"
He tilted his head, thinking. "Yes… kind of. I know who's performing in the dance and who's anchoring. But I'll have to check with the drama and singing groups."
"Okay," I nodded, quickly pulling out the notebook I had tucked under my textbook. "Get in touch with them and try to get around five points from each group. How they're feeling—like BTS anxiety, any special things they've added to the program, how group coordination went…"
He smiled. "You want me to do interviews?"
"Basically, yes," I said. "Make it short and casual. Ask how the groups were formed too. It'll be useful content. And also shows how we're highlighting students from both sides, not just our class girls."
He nodded more seriously now. "That's a good idea. It'll be more balanced."
I glanced at the clock. We only had a few minutes before after-class study would start. But something about this phase felt different. Like we weren't just classmates doing something extra—we were creating something that could last. The idea of a student magazine was no longer a vague dream. It had a skeleton now. Responsibilities. Roles. A deadline.
"Let's divide things now, so we don't get mixed up later," I said, tearing a fresh page.
We started sketching out a rough structure. I wrote in bold:
Freshers' Day Issue – Pre-planning Draft
Event Coverage Team
Girls: Nila
Boys: Nishanth
To collect info from each performance group: theme, preparation time, member list, highlight moment.
Visuals Team
Request camera access from school officially.
Request existing pictures from Computer Sir.
Shadow and assist Computer Sir on the event day.
Website Layout
Developer: Nishanth
Layout Mockup: Friday evening
Integration of content + images: Sat night or Sun morning (if permitted)
Design & Embellishment
Borders, drawings, section icons – possible student artists
Ask Mahathi and Sastika for help
Content Format
Voice pieces: thoughts, mini-interviews, student opinions
Comic/doodle strip (optional)
Welcome note from seniors (group effort)
Behind-the-scenes: DIY costumes and practice chaos
As we wrote, I could already see where the pieces were fitting. Our idea didn't just have legs—it was starting to walk.
"We'll refine this later," I said, snapping the notebook shut as the bell rang for after-class study. "Let's keep things low-key for now. We'll show this to Computer Sir once we've got at least half the draft ready."
"Agreed," Nishanth said, standing. "Feels real now, doesn't it?"
"It does," I smiled.
As we stepped out of the classroom, the hallway buzzed with students shuffling toward the study hall. I looked ahead, but somewhere in my mind, ideas kept forming quietly like soft embroidery threads waiting to be stitched into something beautiful.
Today too, I skipped playtime.
After informing Priya and Shivani di at the court that I wouldn't be joining them for the match, I walked straight to the cafeteria. The smell of fried snacks made me realize how hungry I was. Today's snack was cutlet—crispy outside and warm inside, with that familiar spicy-potato filling. I bought two, ate one quickly, and packed the other to eat later.
Then, without wasting another minute, I rushed to the dorm.
The room was almost empty, with only a few girls lazing around. I climbed onto my bed, pulled my small embroidery kit from under the pillow, and unwrapped the net dupatta carefully. I had already marked out the mirror spots with small chalk dots the night before.
Threading the needle with golden silk thread, I started working—stitch by stitch, circle by circle. The rhythmic in-and-out of the needle was strangely calming, almost like a form of silent meditation. The noise from the corridor outside, the echoes of laughter, and the bounce of volleyballs from the court all faded in the background. I was in my own world now—just me and the fabric.
A few minutes later, Mahathi peeked in. "Want help?" she asked, stepping closer, holding her half-eaten banana.
Harini followed, wiping her hands on her skirt. "Yeah, we thought maybe we could take turns?"
I smiled and shook my head gently. "Thanks, but I think I've got this part. The embroidery—I can handle. But I'll definitely need your help tomorrow when we start pasting the mirrors."
Mahathi raised an eyebrow. "Why only for that?"
"Because we have to race against time. Tomorrow night is the only time we'll get to do all the mirror pasting. If we don't finish it by then, it won't have enough time to dry. And if it doesn't dry properly," I paused, tying a knot at the back of the thread, "the mirrors might come off during the performance."
Harini winced. "That would be a disaster."
"Exactly," I said. "So let's stick to the plan. You both can help tomorrow—glue duty and drying team."
"We'll be ready," Mahathi said with a mock salute. "Just tell us what to do and when."
They stayed a while, watching me work, chatting in low voices about school gossip, teachers, and the Freshers' Day prep. It was comforting, this quiet companionship. They didn't pressure me, just hovered nearby like a soft safety net. At one point, Harini leaned on the bunk next to mine, humming under her breath while scrolling through the paper choreo steps on her notebook.
By the time the bell rang for evening study, I had finished outlining the first batch of mirrors for one dupatta. My fingers ached slightly, but my heart felt light. The pattern was simple—small mirror clusters forming petals around an imaginary flower. It wasn't professional, but it was handmade, with care and with love.
And that, I thought, always shines brighter on stage.
I didn't even realise how quickly time slipped by.
It felt like I had just begun my embroidery during evening study hour, and yet—self-study had come and gone, dinner had been served and cleared—and here I was, still bent over the same net dupatta, threading golden silk into tiny mirrored circles.
There was something deeply peaceful about it. Like the world had slowed down to match the rhythm of my fingers. No one disturbed me. Even the usual buzz in the dorms had taken a quieter tone tonight. I was floating inside that calmness—until Harini broke through like a lightning bolt.
"Nila!" she said, tugging my arm. "Come. Now."
I blinked, startled. "What happened?"
"They've started arguing again."
I sighed, tying off the last stitch quickly and followed her.
In the open corridor outside the dorm, the night breeze was cooler. The small group of girls stood near the staircase, voices rising and falling like waves. When I reached, Pavani was already in mid-complaint.
"I am not doing any more changes! We finally finished the choreography—why are we messing it up again?"
Mahathi looked equally frustrated. "Because it still doesn't feel powerful! We'll be on stage for less than four minutes. We need every second to land. And right now, it's... okay. Not memorable."
I rubbed my temples. "What's this about now?"
Prerna looked at me and shrugged helplessly. "Same thing again. Some want to tweak the climax part of the choreo. Others want to keep it the way it is."
I thought for a second. "Okay, one thing. Are you all clear on the steps now?"
"Yes," Pavani muttered. "We finally are."
"Good. Then let's try this. I'll join in this time and we'll perform the full choreography—start to finish. One take. And then all of us will decide together if we need to change anything."
Prerna blinked. "Wait... you know the steps?"
I smiled. "I've been watching you all practice every evening. Believe me, it wasn't easy not to memorise it."
Harini clapped her hands. "Fine! Let's do it. I'll play the music."
We all gathered in the practice area—a little cleared space near the dormitory entry. Harini hit play on the small speaker, and as the music pulsed through the air, I counted, "One... two... three!"
We began.
My body moved with instinct—spinning, switching angles, lifting hands with just enough grace and drama. My face lit up with practiced expressions, changing with every beat. There was no room for second thoughts. Just performance. Full energy.
And as we danced, something shifted.
Everyone picked up on the mood. Even Pavani's usual stiffness melted into rhythm. Mahathi's feet matched perfectly. We didn't just complete the routine—we felt it.
By the end of the music, we all stood, breathless but smiling.
"That," Harini panted, "was perfect."
I turned to the group. "Now here's what I suggest. Everyone change into your performance costume. Let's run it one more time in full dress. That's the only way you'll know how it really feels."
"And if we all feel satisfied after that," I added, "then promise—no more changes."
Everyone nodded.
It wasn't just a dance anymore. It was a promise in motion.