Fifteen days after the Great Waterfall Tragedy — where I heroically did nothing except scream, slip, and nearly use Anushka as a flotation device — life pretended to return to normal. Everyone else moved on, but destiny apparently had a personal vendetta against me. And it started with my hair.
I didn't wake up planning drama. I didn't wake up wanting to ruin anyone's peace. I simply woke up, looked at my waist-length hair, and thought, "Yes. Today I will commit emotional violence on myself." I don't know why. Even scientists studying brain damage wouldn't know why.
Two hours later, I walked out of the salon staring at my reflection like a shocked aunty who just discovered she paid full price during sale season. Soft shoulder-length curls bounced around my face as if they belonged to a girl who made good life choices. Spoiler: they didn't.
I stood outside, blinking at myself in the glass, wondering if I looked cute or if I looked like the "before" picture of a glow-up reel gone wrong. Did I regret it? A little. Did I feel like a new person? Absolutely. Did I know how to exist with short hair? Not even slightly.
And then came the real challenge — going to college with this new face, new head, new identity crisis. I wore a hoodie, tightened the strings, and marched inside with the confidence of a potato entering a beauty pageant. Maybe, just maybe, nobody would notice.
Of course, the universe hates me.
Because the moment my foot crossed the college gate, the loudest shout in the history of drama echoed through the building.
"MISHA. KAPOOR. STOP RIGHT THERE!"
Rohan's voice exploded behind me like a firecracker with emotional issues. I froze mid-step, mid-breath, mid-life decision. He marched toward me with the exact expression of a man who just discovered his favourite heroine died in episode four.
He looked at my hair.
He blinked twice.
He gasped so loudly a pigeon flew away in fear.
"WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY LONG-HAIRED BEST FRIEND?!"
I smacked his arm. "Reduce your volume, drama queen! People are staring!"
"That's the PROBLEM!" he wailed. "Your hair is SHORT, MISHA. SHORT! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS?!"
I frowned. "What? Enlighten me, Einstein."
He put a hand over his heart. "This means the world will now assume I am the only chaotic beauty in this group."
"Beauty?" I deadpanned. "Bro, nobody has accused you of beauty. Or wisdom."
Before he could respond, Nandini came running like her slippers had suddenly been blessed with turbo mode. She looked at me once — one single glance — and gasped like she saw a murder scene.
"OH MY GOD, MISHA! WHO CUT YOUR HAIR? GIVE ME THE NAME. I WILL SHUT DOWN THEIR SALON."
I sighed. "Relax. I cut it."
She froze.
Processed.
And screamed again.
"You WHAT?! Why? What happened? Who hurt you? Who messed with your brain?"
"I just wanted change," I muttered.
"This is not change!" Rohan barked. "This is an identity CRISIS."
Just then, Saumya walked toward us — calm, collected, and emotionally vaccinated against our stupidity. She gave me one slow, detailed look, like she was checking for side effects. Then she nodded.
"It actually suits you. These two are just born with a built-in alarm system."
Rohan clutched his chest. "Screaming is my cultural heritage."
"And stupidity is your family business," Anushka added, joining the group with her signature razor-sharp smirk.
Harsh trailed behind her, sipping cold coffee like the introverted judge of this circus.
Daksh came last — quiet, sleepy-eyed, headphones around his neck. He looked at me. His steps slowed. And then he smiled — small, soft, warm, the kind of smile that glitches your brain like a Windows 98 computer.
"It looks good," he said gently.
My heartbeat dropped, restarted, and then malfunctioned like a cheap fan.
Before my brain could fry completely, Rohan clapped loudly. "ENOUGH. THIS IS A HISTORIC DAY. MISHA HAS BEEN REBORN. WE ARE GOING TO MCD. RIGHT NOW."
And that is how I ended up walking towards McDonald's with a group of idiots who had more drama than the entire Star Plus channel combined.
We walked into McDonald's like a group permanently banned from all food chains but still confidently sneaking in as if the universe had no choice but to tolerate us.
And obviously, destiny decided that I personally needed character development, because the very second—THE VERY SECOND—I stepped inside... I slipped.
Not a cute stumble, not a tiny skid.
NO.
I performed the most disrespectful, gravity-defying Olympic-level air-flip known to mankind. My legs flew up like they were trying to apply for a pilot license. I swear my soul took the elevator to the ceiling, looked down at me, and whispered, "Embarrassing. I'm not returning."
Every single person turned. Forks paused. Fries froze mid-air. Even the ketchup sachet seemed to question my life choices.
And right on cue, Rohan screamed like a national tragedy had occurred, "CODE RED! MISHA HAS FALLEN! WE NEED MEDICAL, MENTAL AND SPIRITUAL HELP!"
Before I could process the humiliation, Nandini rushed toward me like a Bollywood hero... and instantly slipped too.
She flew sideways like a malfunctioning drone and landed beside me with a thud that echoed my regret. Now both of us lay there on the floor, dignity evaporated, souls missing, brains buffering.
Saumya just face-palmed. "I can't do this today. I'm resigning from this friend group."
Harsh leaned over us with the emotional range of a rock. "Is this a performance? Should I clap or call wildlife rescue?"
Anushka snorted so loudly the staff flinched. "Don't clap. Call a priest. Their brains clearly need exorcism."
Then came Daksh—quiet, calm, looking entirely too perfect for this cartoon episode. He offered his hand and helped me up gently. "Careful," he murmured.
WHY DID HE SOUND LIKE MELTED CHOCOLATE WITH A SIDE OF HEART ATTACK?
My brain short-circuited. My legs rebooted. I hated it.
Meanwhile Rohan marched to the counter like he owned McDonald's. "One McFlurry for emotional damage," he told the cashier. "Actually, make it two. My friend fell like a rotten papaya dropped from a fifth floor."
I threw a napkin at him.
He dodged it as if he practices dodging my stupidity professionally. "Violence toward a handsome man is illegal," he declared.
Nandini, still offended, threw a fry at him. "The only thing illegal is your entire birth story."
We finally gathered around a huge table, and the chaos tripled instantly.
Harsh and Anushka were already arguing about who was more unbearable.
"I'm annoying?" Harsh gasped dramatically. "YOU are a walking alarm clock—loud, irritating, and impossible to ignore."
Anushka flicked her hair. "And you, my dear, are a dead battery. Present, but absolutely useless."
Rohan clapped like a seal at a circus. "OHOOOOOO! ATOMIC COMEBACK! SOMEONE CALL NASA!"
Nandini shoved a fry into his mouth before he could continue.
Daksh sipped his cold coffee quietly, pretending he wasn't biologically related to this species.
Saumya groaned from the corner. "Every day with you people feels like parenting thirteen hyperactive goats."
I leaned back, watching my idiots—my chaotic, dumb, unstoppable idiots. And for the first time in days, I touched my newly cut hair and smiled.
Maybe change wasn't so scary. Maybe disaster and comfort could exist in the same moment. And maybe... falling in front of everyone wasn't the worst thing that happened today.
Because somehow, even after my Olympic-level humiliation... I didn't feel alone.
If only that was the peak of the day. No. Apparently, the universe looked at me, cracked its knuckles, and said, "Sweetheart, I'm not done ruining your life yet."
So we walked into our next lecture, where the professor was explaining something so painfully boring that even oxygen molecules were yawning.
My brain was actively filing for retirement. The class was silent... until Rohan leaned toward me and whispered, "I want a picture of sir's expression. He looks like a disappointed pigeon who failed an exam." I glared at him so hard even gravity hesitated.
"Don't. You. Dare." But Rohan's main personality trait is stupidity mixed with confidence. He slowly lifted his phone like some wildlife photographer capturing a rare species. Click. And then he smiled—his "I did something dumb and I'm proud" smile.
But that smile froze mid-air. He stared at his screen like it had personally betrayed him. Then he whispered, "No. No no no no no..." I hissed, "Rohan, what did you do?" He swallowed. "I sent it."
"Sent? To WHOM?" He looked like a dying soul leaving his body. "...the college faculty group." I choked loud enough that three students turned. "THE ONE WITH ALL THE PROFESSORS? THE PRINCIPAL? THE HOD? EVERYONE?!"
Rohan nodded like a man accepting his death sentence. I swear I saw his future flash before my eyes—funeral, garland, sobbing relatives, us giving speeches about how he died doing the dumbest thing possible. Nandini slapped her forehead so hard it echoed.
"YOU ABSOLUTE BUCKET OF NONSENSE!"
Harsh didn't even look up. "Not attending your funeral. Just informing."
Anushka stretched her arms. "I'll attend. I want to clap when they roast him alive."
The entire row shook from our collective panic.
Thirty minutes later, the inevitable happened. Rohan's name boomed through the speaker, summoning him to the Principal's Office. He turned to us with the expression of a soldier heading into war. We looked at each other... and because we are idiots certified by life—we followed him.
All six of us walked into the office like a circus troupe. The Principal looked up, took one glance, and her soul visibly left her body. "I called ONE student," she said through clenched teeth. Rohan whispered, "We are emotionally attached. We come as a package."
The Principal considered retirement in that moment. She confiscated Rohan's phone for two whole days. TWO. Rohan clutched his chest and dramatically leaned back like a Bollywood hero being stabbed in slow motion.
Nandini burst into tears. "WHY WOULD YOU TAKE HIS PHONE? HE HAS A LIFE!"
Saumya cried along, shaking her head. "He doesn't... but still... why this cruelty?"
Harsh stared at them. "You two need therapy."
The Principal stared at us like she was deciding which wall to bang her head against. "GET. OUT." she snapped, each word like a bullet. We ran. Not walked—FULL sprint. Like cockroaches when the light turns on.
And that... was our day. Haircut disaster. McDonald's Olympic-level humiliation. Lecture stupidity. Professor photo tragedy. Principal scolding. Rohan's phone funeral.
But honestly, the universe wasn't just roasting us—it was marinating us, seasoning us, deep-frying us and serving us with mint chutney. By the time we walked out of the principal's office, we looked like survivors of an emotional cyclone.
Rohan was holding his empty pocket like a widow clutching her mangalsutra, mourning the loss of his confiscated phone. Nandini kept lecturing him like a disappointed mother. Harsh walked ahead, hands in pockets, already calculating how long it would take for this story to spread across the campus. Spoiler: not long.
When we finally sat on the stairs outside, the six of us just stared into the air like NPCs whose game had crashed. And then—because we are us—we started laughing. Not normal laughing. That uncontrollable, tears-falling, can't-breathe, stomach-hurting laughter that only trauma-bonded idiots experience.
In that moment, I realised something stupidly beautiful. Maybe our lives were a mess, maybe chaos followed us like a clingy ex, but at least we were in it together. Disaster after disaster, embarrassment after embarrassment... we always survived.
Because no matter what life throws, we throw ourselves into trouble harder.
And honestly? I wouldn't have it any other way.