The scent of cumin and ghee curled into Nithya's bedroom, mingling with the shrill urgency of her mother's voice.
Nithya! Wake up—it's 7:15!Do you want to miss your first day?"
A groan escaped Nithya as she burrowed deeper under the quilt. Five more minutes. Just five—
"Now!"Her mother's wooden spoon rapped against the doorframe, a staccato warning.
With the grace of a half-awake sloth, Nithya dragged herself upright. Sunlight sliced through the curtains, highlighting dust motes dancing above her tangled sheets. First day. The phrase slithered down her spine.
---
Twenty minutes later, she stood in her crisply ironed uniform—navy-blue pinafore, white blouse starched stiff enough to stand on its own. The belt buckle pinched her waist, and the pleats of her skirt refused to sit flat. Like wearing someone else's skin, she thought.
Her reflection blinked back: a round face framed by stubborn flyaways, wire-rimmed glasses perched on a nose that always seemed slightly too small. The kumkum on her forehead (her mother's daily ritual) blazed like a warning light. She adjusted the golden jhumkas —tiny crescent moons swinging from her earlobes—and sighed. "Don't remove them,"Amma had said, as if the earrings were armor against… whatever lurked beyond home.
---
The school gates yawned before her, a maw of chatter and slamming lockers. Nithya's grip tightened on her tiffin box.
Middle bench. Get the middle bench.
She darted through the stream of students, elbows out, and—victory—collapsed onto the coveted center seat. The wood was warm, carved with generations of bored initials. Safe.
Familiar faces blurred past. Then—
"Nithu!"
Vedika descended upon her in a whirlwind of coconut oil and neon bracelets. A hug crushed Nithya's ribs. "Two months! No calls, no texts—did you join a secret cult?" Vedika's laughter was too loud, too close. Her skin glowed bronze from Goa's sun; a peeling nose betrayed hours spent squinting at waves.
Nithya forced a smile. "Just… stuff."
"Stuff?"Vedika's eyes narrowed. "You're hopeless." She launched into a saga of jet skis and sunburn, hands painting the air. Nithya nodded, her gaze drifting to the clock. Tick. Tick.
---
The bell's shriek cut through the room.
Ms. Pratiksha Patil entered, her sari a blade of navy silk. The class stiffened.
"Good morning."nHer voice could frost glass. "Introductions. Begin."
One by one, voices rose and fell. Nithya's pulse hammered in her throat. Her turn came—
"Myself Nithya Rai." The words tumbled out, a frantic jumble. " Ilike books. And cooking. Father's an accountant, mother teacher. I want to be a pilot. Thank you."
Silence. Then the next name was called.
Nithya exhaled. Survived.
---
After school, Vedika chattered about new crushes and old gossip. Nithya half-listened, her eyes catching on a poster in the hall: "Aviation Workshop—Sign Up Now!" A paper airplane logo grinned at her.
Her fingers twitched. Maybe this year…
Then Vedika yanked her arm. "Earth to Nithu! Walk faster—I need mango ice cream."
Nithya let herself be pulled away, the poster fluttering behind her like a missed opportunity.