Nila didn't go straight to dinner. Her body was tired, but her mind was still buzzing, too alert, too wound up after what had happened in class. She needed space to breathe—space without eyes watching her, without rules pressing into her ribs like tight corset strings.
She walked silently towards the hostel bay. The corridor lights flickered a little as she passed, casting odd shadows. Near the door, just like every Thursday, a neatly folded stack of freshly laundered clothes waited, still warm with the scent of starch and steam. She spotted her kurta by the familiar pastel blue embroidery on the sleeve and bent down to gather her pile quickly before anyone else came to shuffle through them.
Back in her room, the others were out—probably already halfway through their meals. Good.
She placed the clothes on the bed and opened her cupboard. Every motion was deliberate now. No more room for carelessness. She sorted her books first, lining them spine-out, arranged by subject and size. Then came the clothes, folded by type, stacked with the freshest on top. Her cotton nightwear tucked in one corner, the uniform pressed flat, earphones wound up and slid into the small drawer above her toiletries.
She locked the cupboard with a soft click, slipping the key into the little pouch tied securely inside her duppatta. There. Nothing left for anyone to fiddle with. After the alarm stunt and the showdown with the warden earlier, she didn't want another shadow cast over her name.
Better be safe than sorry.
When she finally walked into the cafeteria, the buzz of dinner had mostly faded. Most plates were cleared, tables wiped down halfway. She spotted her group in the far corner—Sastika, Harini, and Mahathi. They were finishing up the last bites of curd rice and pappad.
Sastika turned toward her. "Where were you till now? Harini came before you."
Nila placed her steel plate down gently before responding. "Laundry day, remember? I went to collect the clothes before everyone went up and messed with the neatly ironed pile. And it's phone time today. I don't want things getting delayed."
She gave a small smile, but her tone was firm—no room for casual teasing or mock concern. "You guys go once you're done with dinner. No need to wait for me."
As expected, the table cleared quickly after that. No one wanted to miss their turn on the common phone. With just thirty minutes per student, even a slight delay could push their one more minute of sharing with parents or friends. Only Harini stayed back, peeling her orange slowly, her silence more comforting than any words.
Nila ate quietly, chewing each bite with the mechanical discipline she had taught herself. Don't let the mind wander. Don't let the face show too much.
When she was done, she placed her plate on the return counter, washed her hands, and stepped outside.
The night was cooler than expected. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and walked slowly toward the far edge of the campus, near the little neem tree that swayed just outside the warden's window. Irony.
She kept her distance, choosing the narrow path that curved behind the cycle stand. A soft breeze stirred her hair. She let it.
She didn't want to face the warden now—not until it was necessary. Not until her name had stopped echoing in the corridors, softened into background noise again.
Nila checked the time. Just a little more before phone hour began. The thought of hearing her mother's voice tugged gently at her chest, comforting, familiar.
Not yet. Just a few more minutes to be alone.
When the phone chance began, Nila walked toward the waiting line without a rush, her heart steady but not exactly calm. A group of girls was already seated near the warden's cabin, each with their own stories to spill, some giggling, some looking anxious.
When her turn came, she entered the cabin, collected her phone, and dialed home. It barely rang once before her mother's voice burst through.
"Nila! You sound tired, kanna. Did you eat? You didn't skip dinner, right?"
Nila smiled instinctively. "Ate, Ma. Late, but I did."
Her mother didn't stop. "I made chappathi and paneer curry today—you know, your favourite. I don't know why, I just felt like making it. And like always, I made a bit extra. Your Appa even asked, 'You know she's not here, right?'" Amma gave a small laugh. "But I thought maybe Santhosh might like it. So, the extra went into his lunch box today."
"Ammmaaa…" Nila dragged the last syllable with mock exasperation, but her chest ached a little. The thought of home—still cooking for her, still thinking of her even when she wasn't there—was both warm and sharp.
Santhosh's voice came next, excited and breathless. "Akka! I got your letter! You put in that dragon sticker! I didn't even know we had those at home. And I wrote a letter back—it has a surprise! You'll get it next week, okay? Don't peek!"
"I can't peek through closed envelopes, monkey," she teased, smiling for real now.
Then came Appa's calm, even voice. "Did you receive the parcel properly? All the items inside? Nothing seized at school?"
"Got it. Everything's intact, Appa. The sanitizer bottle leaked a little, but I already wiped it. The snacks are safe."
"Good. I packed it tight just in case," he said, satisfied.
But she didn't have time for three separate calls. The minutes ticked by mercilessly. She took a deep breath and said, "Wait—can you all hear me?"
There was a pause. "I've put you on speaker on our end too," Appa replied. "All of us are here."
"Okay," she said, switching to her serious voice. "I need to tell you something. Don't get scared, I'm fine now."
That sentence alone made Amma's voice rise immediately. "Nila? What happened? Tell me now!"
"I'm fine, Ma. Please listen fully."
Then she told them. About the surprise inspection. About how the Chinese worksheet had resurfaced. How the warden had pulled her out of study hours and made her sit alone at class, prohibiting her from speaking and discussing with anyone, she was a criminal. How she'd been scolded, in front of everyone, and made to feel like she was hiding something.
Santhosh was the first to respond, in his own tiny burst. "That's not fair!"
"I know. But let me finish," Nila said softly.
She told them about the surprise walk-in of the principal, explaining the situation clearly. About the vice principal and chief warden being present too. How they had understood her point and returned the worksheet to her after confirming everything.
"But the warden still hasn't said anything. No apology. No explanation," Nila said, her voice controlled. "It's okay, though. I didn't do anything wrong."
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Then Appa's voice came through, stern and concerned.
"You should have told us immediately, Nila."
"I didn't want to worry you all. I needed to think. I handled it. I'm telling you now so you don't hear it in bits later or sense it in my voice and worry."
"But they scolded you for nothing! In front of your classmates!" Amma sounded like she might cry. "You're a good girl. You've never—"
"I know, Ma. That's why I'm telling you everything now. Please don't get upset. I really am okay."
Appa's voice was gentler this time. "You were brave. Calm. I'm proud of you."
Nila nodded, even though they couldn't see her. "Thanks, Appa."
Santhosh shouted in the background, "I would've shouted back if I were you!"
She smiled. "That's why you're not me."
They all laughed a little. It broke the tension.
She glanced at the timer. Barely a minute left.
"Okay, I have to submit the phone now. It's almost my curfew. Don't worry, okay? I'll write in detail over the weekend."
"But—" Amma began again.
"I'm okay, Ma. I promise. I've learned my lesson—next time I'll let you all worry in real time," she said dryly, trying to lighten the moment.
Appa laughed. "Don't make a habit of it."
"Noted."
"Love you, Akka!" Santhosh yelled.
"Love you more," she whispered, and then hung up before she could let the lump in her throat rise further.
She stepped out, returned the phone, and walked back to her room slowly.
She had said she was okay. She almost believed it.