The college canteen was unusually loud that afternoon.
Metal spoons clinked against steel plates, someone laughed too hard at a joke that wasn't even that funny, and the ceiling fans struggled against the late-summer heat. At one corner table near the window, three people sat sprawled across plastic chairs, clearly waiting for someone.
"She's late," Myra said, glancing at her phone again.
Kabir leaned back, balancing his chair on two legs. "She's always late. Either she's finishing something important… or pretending she isn't."
Tara smirked. "You say that like there's a difference."
Myra smiled despite herself. "She'll come. She always does."
Just then, the canteen door swung open.
And for a brief moment, it felt like the noise dipped—not completely, but enough for heads to turn.
Anaya walked in, sunlight following her as if it had chosen her. Her long, waist-length hair fell freely down her back, dark and glossy, moving softly with each step. It wasn't styled with care, yet it looked effortless—like it had always belonged that way.
Her skin carried a natural glow, warm and alive.
And then there was her smile.
It arrived before she did.
A smile so genuine it softened the space around her, revealing a dimple on her left cheek. Her eyes—bright, expressive, quietly observant—sparkled as they searched the room, lighting up the moment they found her friends.
"There you are!" Tara called out.
Anaya lifted a hand apologetically as she made her way over. "Don't start. I know I'm late."
Myra crossed her arms dramatically. "We were seconds away from ordering without you."
"That would've been unforgivable," Anaya said, laughing as she dropped her bag onto an empty chair and slid into her seat.
Kabir raised an eyebrow. "What kept you?"
"Just finishing up submissions," she replied. "Two presentations left and we're done."
Myra groaned. "Don't say it out loud. I might cry."
Tara leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Okay, serious question. What are you wearing to Myra's wedding events?"
Myra groaned louder. "Can we not make everything about my wedding?"
Kabir grinned, slipping his hand into hers. "It literally is about her wedding."
Anaya smiled at them, resting her chin in her palm. "I still can't believe you two are getting married."
Myra shrugged, pretending to be casual and failing miserably. "It just… happened."
"We grew up," Kabir added simply. "We chose."
Tara rolled her eyes. "Disgusting. Love like that should come with a warning label."
Anaya laughed softly. Watching them felt comforting—solid, real.
Kabir turned to her. "What about you? What's next after college?"
Anaya blinked. "Nothing dramatic."
"Of course," Tara said. "She says that now."
Anaya smiled, a little shy. "I just want to learn. Work. Start small."
Myra nudged her arm. "You're going to make something of your own one day. I know it."
Anaya didn't argue. She simply nodded, as if that future lived quietly inside her, waiting.
Time slipped by unnoticed—talk of farewell parties, professors, plans half-formed and laughed off. For a while, Anaya forgot everything else.
Until she checked the time.
"I should go," she said, standing up.
"So early?" Myra asked.
Anaya smiled apologetically. "Yeah."
"Text when you reach," Myra said, pulling her into a quick hug.
"I will."
The noise followed Anaya out of the canteen, fading slowly as she stepped into the quieter streets. The bus ride home felt longer than usual.
The buildings grew older, the roads narrower. By the time she reached her lane, the sun had dipped low, shadows stretching across the pavement.
She paused outside the gate.
Just for a moment.
Then she went in.
Dinner was already laid out.
Rotis stacked neatly, dal still steaming, vegetables arranged with quiet precision. Everything looked exactly the way it always did—orderly, intentional.
She washed her hands and sat down.
"You were late," her mother said, serving food without asking.
"I had work," Anaya replied evenly.
Her brother scoffed. "College work never ends, does it?"
She kept her eyes on her plate.
Her father folded his newspaper and set it aside. "Graduation is in a few days."
"Yes," she said.
"You'll be home after that," he continued. It wasn't a question.
"For a while," Anaya replied carefully.
Her brother laughed sharply. "For a while?"
He leaned back. "What exactly do you think happens after college?"
Her mother cleared her throat. "Eat while it's hot."
They did.
Spoons scraped plates. Silence filled the space between sentences.
Her father spoke again, calmer. "The world isn't safe these days. Stability matters."
Anaya nodded.
"We'll talk properly after graduation," her mother added. "About what's best for you."
Best.
The word lingered.
When dinner ended, Anaya stood. "I'm tired."
No one stopped her.
She closed her bedroom door gently behind her, as if even sound needed permission here. Lying back on her bed, she stared at the ceiling.
Earlier, she had been wrapped in laughter and warmth.
Now, the air felt tighter.
Tomorrow would come.
And with it, conversations she wasn't sure she was ready for—but somehow knew she would face.