Noida's summer was so heavy it felt like the air was pressing down on Sanya, but nothing matched the weight of the new rumors swirling at campus. She stalked down the hallway, Anjali on one side and Rekha on the other, while fight-song Bollywood music drifted tinnily from a distant canteen radio.
Just outside the admin wing, Anjali clucked her tongue. "Your Vicky saga made the WhatsApp group. Some freshers think you ran off with a rockstar."
Sanya grinned. "Rockstar, gangster, or astrologer-approved bride—I suppose it depends on which serial they watch."
But the smile faded as they reached the office. Dean Sharma had a reputation for zero drama. His glance bounced from Sanya to her friends and lingered on Sanya's bright, outdated sunglasses.
"Ladies, wait outside please," he said gently.
Inside his air-conditioned bunker, the atmosphere was thick with a different kind of heat.
Dean didn't waste time. "Sanya, your family called again. They're worried. They want you transferred to a 'better' girls' college—or preferably married off quickly. And… they want us to keep you away from certain friends." He paused, shuffling papers. "Frankly, I dislike these demands as much as you must."
Sanya matched his directness. "I'm here to actually study, Dean. The rest is just neighborhood noise."
She could see the college peon in the hallway, eavesdropping.
Still, she added, voice firm but not disrespectful, "If campus becomes like my living room, what's the point of coming?"
Dean Sharma considered her for a long moment, then offered a weary half-smile. "Keep out of trouble, Sanya. For now, I'll handle your family's calls. But keep the drama off campus."
She stood, keen to escape, but Dean glanced at the battered autograph book in her hand. "You collecting signatures for something?"
Sanya raised an eyebrow. "Just for fun. Proof I survived the semester—every bit as good as a degree, right?"
Dean almost laughed. "You're an odd one, Sanya. Good luck."
Outside, Anjali and Rekha pounced. "Are they kicking you out?"
She shook her head. "We live to fight another day, drama queens."
They spilled out of the building, sunlight blinding and a familiar system ping echoing inside her mind:
**[Daily Sign-In Reward: 1 x dusty cricket ball (vintage, 2005); 10 rupees; Skill: Basic Negotiation.]**
Sanya snorted. "Cricket ball—maybe I'll use it next time someone calls me a bad influence. Or bribe security with it."
Rekha snatched the ball and pretended to bowl, sending it scuttling across the quad. Anjali doubled over laughing.
They wandered the quad, talking in code about next week's surprise test, the coming society meeting (which Sanya's family was almost certainly plotting to sabotage), and their secret plan to steal lunch from the staff canteen using negotiation skills and whatever loose change today's reward gave them.
Later, they found a bench in the shade—each girl taking turns tossing the cricket ball, as if its weight tied them, just for a moment, to a more normal life.
Sanya leaned back, watching the clouds.
*Melodrama is loud, but friendship is quiet.*
For the first time since transmigrating, she realized maybe she didn't have to run or fight every day. Maybe some days, a successful negotiation and a shared laugh were enough.
As they split up for afternoon class—Rekha yelling, "Oi, drama queen! Don't let them marry you off at recess!"—Sanya waved her battered autograph book, feeling more hope than homesickness.
A new signature for a new day. And just maybe, another chapter written her way.
**End of Chapter 10 (Expanded)**