81. Words and destiny XII

During the evening phone time at the hostel, when it was finally my turn to get the phone, I felt a strange flutter in my stomach. Not nerves, not excitement—something in between. Like I had something precious to share and couldn't wait to say it out loud.

The first thing I did after switching on the phone was text Rino's mom.

"Aunty, tell Rino I'll call her in 15-20 minutes. Be free!"

Rino has been my best friend since we were in fourth grade. She's the kind of person I don't need to pretend around. Even though we're growing up, we're still kids in many ways. Not like those future kids who get phones when they're in kindergarten. Right now, we still borrow our parents' phones or use the landline at home. Rino and I promised we'd update each other the moment anything important happened, and this was one of those moments.

But first, I wanted to speak with my family.

This is my first personal phone, and I got it only because I moved to a hostel. That's one unexpected perk. I dialled my dad's number. He picked up quickly.

"Appa," I began, not knowing how to start.

"What is with the email you sent me?" he asked, already sounding intrigued.

I laughed. "Wait, wait. What's Amma doing?"

"She's washing dishes in the kitchen. Why?"

"Can you call her? And Santhosh too? I want to tell everyone together."

There was a pause, and then I could hear him calling out:

"Nila's calling! Come out. Santhosh, switch off the TV. Your akka wants to talk to us as a family!"

I smiled at the image forming in my head—my dad walking around the house, rounding everyone up like it was some kind of emergency family meeting. Typical Appa drama.

"Okay," my brother said, "we're all here now. You have our undivided attention, Akka. What's going on?"

I sat a little straighter, even though they couldn't see me. "So… I took an initiative to start a school magazine."

There was silence on the other end.

My little brother broke it first. "What is a school magazine?"

I chuckled. "It's like… a monthly collection of articles, photos, updates—everything about school. Written by students for students. Sort of like a newspaper, but only for our school."

Appa spoke next. "So this is what the email was about? You sent a PowerPoint presentation and a draft magazine!"

"Yes!" I said, excitement finally pouring into my voice. "Me and a classmate, Nishanth, we planned it all. We got permission from the principal just yesterday. I've written 20 articles already, and Nishanth has edited the photos. We even met the PT sir and other teachers to discuss how students from every department—sports, academics, cultural—can contribute."

I heard Amma now. "You sound so confident, ma. Did you really present all this to your school management?"

"Yes, Amma. We prepared slides, printed sample pages, and made a proper plan. Our computer sir even agreed to be our mentor. The class teacher supported us. Everything is falling into place."

"Hmm," Appa said, but I could tell he was impressed. "And how are your studies?"

"Still on track. I'm keeping pace with the class. I've just got to find a rhythm between studies and magazine work."

Amma's voice turned soft. "I'm so proud of you not just because you're doing something new. But because you sound happy, kanna."

That made my throat tighten a little. She always had that way of saying the exact words I didn't know I needed to hear.

"Thanks, Amma. I just wanted to let you all know that I'm settling in. It's busy, but I feel like I'm doing something meaningful."

"And when is this magazine going to be released?" my brother asked.

"Soon. Maybe next week. I'll send you the PDF once it's done."

"Then I'll show my friends that my sister is famous!" he declared proudly.

I laughed. "It's not about fame, Santhosh. It's about giving students a voice. That's why we're calling it Student Voice."

"You gave it a name also!" Appa said. "Wow."

"I'll tell you everything in detail when I come home for the holidays," I said. "But I just couldn't wait that long to share this."

"Then we're glad you called," Amma replied gently.

We spoke for a few more minutes before the 15-minute, half the phone time ran out.

But I felt lighter, happier. Like I wasn't doing all this just for myself—but carrying their hopes and love along with me.

"Then I said bye to them saying I'm going to call Rino."

"Mom — go, go. She's missing you a lot!""Brother — she's angry you suddenly changed school!"

I laughed. "I know."

It was a sudden decision, after all. I didn't even get a proper farewell. I still remember that day clearly. I had just called her quickly to say I wouldn't be coming to school anymore — that I was changing schools and moving to a hostel. I was excited, overwhelmed, and not sure how to put everything into words. Rino was silent on the other end of the call. Not angry, not sad — just hurt. The kind of hurt that doesn't shout but just quietly aches.

She had just said, "Stay in touch. Okay?" That was all. But I knew what she meant.

We both used to love writing — and laughing, and ranting about teachers, and editing each other's essays. In my past life, I had lost touch with her too soon. we got back in touch only after years. This time, I won't let that happen.

I had promised myself: this time, I'll encourage her to write beyond school competitions — to explore online platforms, self-publish, experiment with blogs, forums, anything she wants. I want to bring her along with me, somehow.

I dialed her number, heart thudding just a little. She picked up on the very first ring.

"At last," Rino huffed dramatically. "How is school?"

"Hi," I said softly. "How are you?"

"Stop with the small talk! How's school?" she demanded.

I smiled. Some things never change.

"I miss our old school," I admitted. "We felt like a family there. This new school is big and polished — great resources, but it doesn't feel as close-knit. Not yet."

"You can't get everything everywhere," she said wisely.

"I know. But I'm learning every day. Here, I meet all kinds of people — some kind, some too curious, some a little weird. But I feel like I'm growing just by watching and listening."

"In our school, you only had to worry about textbooks and scores," she pointed out. "Now you're learning people."

"Exactly. And it's not like I'm behind in studies. You remember how our principal always said, 'Learn how to learn, and no one can stop you'?"

Rino laughed. "She used to repeat that so often we could've turned it into a school anthem!"

"She was right though. That skill saved me here. Some teachers here have strong Telugu accents. I struggled at first — couldn't understand a word. But I remembered how we were taught to self-study."

"So… did you figure it out?"

"Yeah. I pre-learn the portions before class, so when they teach, I already know the topic. It's just revision for me."

"Smart girl," Rino said with a proud tone. "Any gossip?"

I laughed. "Plenty. But also — I started something."

"What?"

"A student magazine."

There was a pause. Then — "No way."

"Yes way." I smiled. "Me and a guy named Nishanth — he's from my class — we pitched the idea, prepared articles, edited photos, designed a draft… and yesterday, we got official permission from the principal."

Rino gasped. "That's huge! I'm so proud of you!"

"I wish you were here to help. You know how much fun we used to have editing stories together…"

"I miss that," she admitted. "But hey — maybe I can write something too? Even if I'm not from your school."

I blinked. "Actually… yes. Why not? We can have a guest column. Maybe something like Voices Beyond Walls — perspectives from outside the hostel?"

"Oooooh, I love that," she squealed.

"Think about it. Write something over the weekend — it can be a diary entry, an opinion piece, even a review."

"I'm on it."

We spent the next ten minutes talking about old English periods, our favorite books, a classmate who once accidentally sent a love poem to the whole school group, and how hostel milk tastes weirdly metallic sometimes.

But underneath all the jokes, I felt something soft settle in my heart. Like a knot untied.

Even across the distance, Rino felt like home. My old roots were still strong — and now, I had new branches reaching out in directions I never imagined.

Before we hung up, she said, "Nila?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you're doing something amazing."

I swallowed a lump in my throat. "Thanks. I'll keep you updated."

"You better."

After the call ended, I sat silently with my phone. The noisy corridor buzzed with students finishing their calls. But inside me, there was peace.

Tomorrow would be busy. Articles to review. Layouts to finalise. Sports column updates. Team announcements.

But tonight, I had my people — old and new — cheering me on.

And that made all the difference.