32. The Pattern Begins

The school bell rang at 3:30 PM, sharp. Usually, there would be a one-hour self-study session before we were allowed to head back, but since it was the first day, they let us off early. With bags stuffed to the brim—two brown uniforms, one white blazer set, a stack of textbooks, and a week's worth of excitement—we trudged back to the hostel.

Most of the girls had already sprinted ahead, chatting loudly in cliques, their matching track leaves fluttering like flags of friendship. I lingered back, walking with a quiet smile, watching their energy stretch down the corridor. That's when I found out—Jaiharini, one of the girls in our group, was going to be my partition-mate.

Not exactly a roommate—our hostel didn't have closed rooms. Just open cabins with cardboard partitions tall enough for privacy but short enough to let you peek over. From my bed, I could see Jaiharini's bed directly on the other side of the divider. If I stood up, I could talk to her without even stepping out. We weren't cabin-mates, but we were close enough to stay connected.

Her actual cabin partner turned out to be Sashtika—someone I remembered clearly from my past life. Another close friend, though she wasn't in our class now. She had taken FITJEE, which meant her classes and schedule would run a little differently.

Across from Jaiharini's partition, Lekha and Pavani had set up their corner—chatter, giggles, and half-unpacked suitcases everywhere. And just two or three cabins down were Amritha and Prerna. Looking around, I was surprised at how many familiar faces were suddenly around me, tucked between beds and half-drawn curtains. Yesterday, I had been too caught up in following Shivani akka and settling into the surface-level rhythm to notice the deeper patterns forming.

Though technically "free time," the whole hostel buzzed with movement. Everyone was unpacking their uniforms, rearranging their cupboards, and flipping through new books. Within minutes, the calm hostel we'd left this morning was transformed into controlled chaos. Blazers tossed on beds, shoes lined up like soldiers, and voices overlapping in excitement and complaints.

It felt like the beginning of something messy, unpredictable, but alive.

By 4:30 PM, the cafeteria staff had started calling out that snacks are ready. I had already packed my math books and rough note into my shelf and placed a clean pair of clothes on the bed for the evening session. If there's one thing I learned from my past life here, it's that the hour between 5:30 and 6:00 will be nothing short of mayhem. Everyone rushing, borrowing buckets, searching for towels, shouting through bathroom doors—it used to drain me before study time even began. So I made it a habit now to stay one step ahead.

Snacks today were steaming Maggi noodles, slightly sticky, with a dusting of pepper and coriander on top. The usual drinks—tea and Boost—were lined up in steel tumblers. I picked Boost and found a quiet corner to finish eating quickly. There was no official announcement yet, but I knew from memory—they were going to declare mandatory playtime soon.

Last life, I used every excuse in the book to skip it. I hated the disorder of it all—everyone scrambling for a shuttlecock or football, then wasting the next forty minutes figuring out who would play what. And just when the game got interesting, the bell would ring. But this time, I had promised myself I'd commit to a healthy lifestyle, physically and emotionally.

So, before they even began yelling for everyone to get outside, I went straight to the ground. I started asking the staff about the play options. We could choose between volleyball, throwball, cycling, badminton, or basketball. Borrowing the equipment meant going to the boys' hostel auditorium and returning it right after.

I told them I was interested in basketball. To my surprise, the coach already had a ball ready for the seniors, and since I came early, I got a chance to try dribbling. Shivani di was already on the court, her ponytail swinging as she ran across the court effortlessly. She waved and invited me to join. "Come! I'll teach you!"

The next half-hour flew by. We were laughing, sweating, and shouting directions. When the final bell rang, I was breathless and smiling. The ground emptied in seconds. I dashed back to the hostel with just 15 minutes left to freshen up before the evening study.

Since I had already kept everything ready, I managed to catch the bathroom first. Within five minutes, I was freshened up and back in the cabin. I changed into a green kurti, black palazzo pants, and a matching dupatta. There was something comforting about slipping into fresh clothes after sweating it out in the ground. I packed my math textbook and rough note into my bag and nibbled on a handful of almonds while waiting for the familiar sharp whistle from the warden that signaled assembly.

As expected, the whistle echoed through the corridor, and we all lined up. The warden led the girls' hostel block in two straight lines toward the school building for evening study. It was always a little surreal—walking back into the school in casual clothes, just an hour after we had left it in uniform.

The school felt quieter now. Since only hostel students attended the evening session, it was hardly a third of the usual crowd. The boys and girls were always split—girls were allotted the classrooms on the ground floor, and the boys usually took the upstairs rooms. Depending on the warden's mood or the head staff on duty, we'd either be grouped according to our bays or strictly by grade.

Once inside the classroom, a soft bell rang, signaling the start of our ten-minute meditation. The lights were dimmed slightly, and we sat in silence. It was peaceful, almost therapeutic—a pause in the middle of an otherwise bustling day.

After the meditation, we settled into our seats. The girls around me were buzzing with excitement. Since no homework had been given yet, they used the time to whisper gossip, giggle about boys in other bays, or make evening plans. I ignored them.

Instead, I pulled out my math notebook and began working through a few problems. I remembered all too well how badly I struggled with math in my past life. It dragged down my scores and, in turn, my confidence. This time, I wasn't going to let that happen. Whether I liked it or not, math would follow me for the next four years—and this time, I planned to face it head-on.

After the evening study session, we walked straight to the cafeteria for dinner. Unlike school lunch, dinner gave us some freedom—we could choose what we wanted, though there were some staples. Every night, rasam, rice, curd, and a banana were compulsory. Alongside that, we usually had some kind of tiffin. Today's option was chapati with mixed vegetable curry. I was hungrier than usual, maybe because I had studied with so much focus during the evening session.

As we sat down at our usual dinner table, something felt different—in a good way. Over the past few food times, the table had become a little kingdom of sorts, ruled by our newly formed gang: Jai Harini, Shashika, Amritha, Prerna, Lekha, Pavani, and now Maya, who had quietly joined us during evening study. That made it eight of us—the perfect number for the eight-seater tables. Six of us were in the same class, and we had naturally gravitated toward each other, turning meal times into something we genuinely looked forward to.

After dinner, I returned to my cabin and began organizing my cupboard. I started with my books, covering them in colorful printed sheets instead of the usual brown covers. Most students chose brown paper or transparent covers—it was a silent way of showing they were now "mature" ninth graders. But there weren't any official rules, so I went all in. My books stood out like vibrant flags in a sea of dullness. I liked that—it made finding things easier and added a small burst of joy every time I opened the cupboard.

Time flew. Before I realized it, it was already 9:30, and we were asked to gather in front of the bay for the night meeting. The warden repeated the hostel rules. The morning whistle meant we had to leave for school and couldn't return until 4:30 PM. Housekeeping would clean our bays during that time, so we were expected to leave our cabins neat. From 4:30 to 5:30 was mandatory playtime—no excuses. After that, we were expected to return, freshen up, and head straight to the school block for evening study.

She emphasized the dress code—kurti, full pants, and a dupatta were non-negotiable when outside the bay. Tracksuits were allowed only during playtime. Laundry would be collected twice a week—Tuesday and Friday mornings. Clothes had to be labeled with our cot and bay numbers to avoid mix-ups. She ended with an announcement about our weekly phone calls—tomorrow being the first. We'd get full instructions then. Finally, she reminded us: lights out by 10:30 PM sharp. No exceptions.

Back in the bay, I checked the clothes I wore that day. Some didn't have labels, so I sewed in the extra ones I'd brought from the tailor uncle. Most girls used markers to write inside their clothes, but I didn't want stains showing through. I stitched fabric labels and wrote on them instead. The others were curious—some even asked to borrow my sewing kit.

"I don't have extra labels," I apologized. "But if you make your own, you can use my kit."

Inspired, Prerna cut up an old handkerchief, made her own label, and stitched it just like me. Our small routines were slowly becoming traditions.