The second day of the program had its own charm. The initial awkwardness was fading, and I could finally feel the buzz of real conversations, shared laughter, and the possibility of making actual friends.
Breakfast was more than just food now—it was about where you sat and who you sat with. I found myself at a corner table with a few familiar faces from orientation. Tanya, a fast-talking girl from Delhi, was already telling a dramatic story about her flight delay. Beside her, Shruti nodded along with half a smile while scrolling through her phone. I was beginning to enjoy this energy—small circles forming, strangers turning into something more.
As we walked into the seminar hall, I noticed a sudden shift in atmosphere. Conversations paused, glances exchanged. A group had just entered.
They weren't late, but they had that kind of presence—the one that naturally draws attention without trying. Their clothes, their confidence, the way they walked as if the place already belonged to them. Not loud or flamboyant, just… established. Like they had known each other for years and were simply picking up where they left off.
I didn't recognize any of them from the orientation day. Maybe they had skipped it, or maybe they just didn't feel the need to mingle.
Among them, there was one name that I kept hearing—Aarav. Tanya leaned closer and whispered, That's Aarav. Apparently, his dad runs a private equity firm or something big in finance. All the girls from that group seem obsessed with him."
I gave a neutral nod and looked away. Not because I was shy or secretly curious, but because I wasn't interested in the kind of attention he was getting. I'd grown up around wealth too, but I had never felt the urge to lead with it. Maybe that's why the whole scene—designer bags, calculated poses, and easy entitlement—felt… overdone.
The group moved past us and sat in their own row at the back. They didn't look unfriendly, just uninterested in anyone outside their bubble. The girls were undeniably beautiful, well-dressed, and clearly aware of it. The boys, especially Aarav, wore the kind of casual confidence that made it hard to ignore—but not hard for me to dismiss.
I had no reason to engage. I wasn't here to find drama or become part of some elite circle. I was here to make something meaningful out of this one year. To learn, grow, and maybe enjoy the little things—like early chai runs before class or late-night assignment rants with people who didn't think they were too cool for it.
By the time the guest lecturer walked in, my attention had already shifted back to the presentation slides. The topic was about leadership models, but my mind kept drifting to something else—how fast people form impressions, how easy it is to box someone in without knowing their story.
Later in the day, while walking to the cafeteria, I overheard a few classmates discussing Aarav's "cold aura" and the way he barely made eye contact with anyone. It was clear he was already becoming the kind of person people talked about more than talked to. I didn't join the conversation. I didn't care about his story. At least, not then.
Instead, I focused on Shruti's endless obsession with filter coffee and Tanya's funny take on group projects. We laughed about random things, sat on the steps outside the academic block, and planned a mini trip for the weekend. It felt good. Real.
I didn't know where these friendships would go, but they felt grounded, much like how I tried to keep myself. Away from show-offs, away from noise.
Somewhere in the background, that group remained distant—too wrapped up in their own world to notice ours.
And honestly, I preferred it that way.
The sunset dyed the campus golden as everyone headed back to their hostels.I stayed back a little, sitting under a tree with a cup of chai and no reason to rush.Maybe this year would just be about quiet friendships and peaceful evenings.Or maybe, something else was waiting—already slipping into the silence I had mistaken for peace.