By the end of the first week, Riverline College already had proof that happiness could be staged.
Pictures.
The campus Instagram page posted freshers' photos every night.
Group selfies. Smiles. Victory poses. Cute captions.
Room 407 appeared everywhere.
✨ Hostel cuties!
✨ Freshers fest squad!
✨ Mumbai girls energy!
Pihu reposted all of them with dramatic emojis.
Meher zoomed in before allowing any tag.
Nandini saved them quietly.
Ananya stared at them longer than she expected.
They did look happy.
But photos didn't show late-night overthinking.
They didn't show homesickness.
They didn't show the tiny cracks.
Saturday evening, they decided to go to Marine Drive.
"Because," Pihu announced, "we deserve main-character wind."
They sat on the tetrapods with paper cups of cutting chai, hair flying everywhere, phones out.
Pictures were taken.
Laughter was loud.
Stories were dramatic.
At one point, Meher stood up and said, "Wait, take one more. The light is perfect."
They leaned in.
Click.
Another happy photo.
Later, while Pihu went to buy corn and Nandini scrolled through pictures, Ananya noticed Meher sitting slightly apart, phone in her hand, face blank.
"Good pictures," Ananya said, sitting beside her.
Meher hummed. "Yeah. They'll look great online."
Ananya studied her. "You don't sound convinced."
Meher didn't answer immediately.
Then she said, quietly, "Do you ever feel like… you're performing your life?"
Ananya looked at the sea.
"I think most people are."
Meher exhaled. "My mother called today. She wanted to know if I'm 'networking properly.' Not if I'm okay. Just… useful."
There it was.
The crack.
Ananya didn't rush to fix it.
She just stayed.
"That must get heavy," she said.
Meher laughed once, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Being shiny is exhausting."
They sat in silence, waves doing what people couldn't.
That night, back in the hostel, Pihu was unusually quiet.
She kept checking her phone. Typing. Deleting.
Ananya finally asked, "Everything okay?"
Pihu smiled fast. "Of course."
Too fast.
Later, when the lights were off, Ananya heard quiet sniffing.
She got up and sat beside Pihu's bed.
"Hey."
Pihu turned her face away. "Sorry. I'm being stupid."
"Talk to me," Ananya said softly.
Pihu hesitated.
Then the words came out like they had been waiting.
"Our shop back home might shut down. Dad hasn't told Mom yet. He thinks I don't know. But I heard him talking to the bank."
Her voice cracked. "I feel selfish sitting here laughing while they're breaking there."
Ananya didn't lecture.
She just hugged her.
And soon Nandini was there too.
And even Meher.
No photos.
No posts.
Just four girls on one bed, holding something heavier than suitcases.
Sunday passed quietly.
Assignments. Laundry. Balcony talks.
In the evening, Ananya sat alone near the hostel window, notebook open.
Kabir walked past the gate below with two coffees.
He looked up, noticed her, and hesitated.
Then lifted one cup.
She went down.
They stood near the gate, watching traffic swallow the sunset.
"You're quieter today," he said.
"I think I'm finally hearing people," she replied.
He smiled slightly. "That happens when you stop trying to be impressive."
She glanced at him. "You don't try."
"No," he agreed. "I choose."
Something about that stayed with her.
That night, Room 407 took another photo.
Messy. No poses. No filters.
Just them, on the floor, eating Maggi.
Ananya looked at it.
They didn't look perfect.
They looked real.
She saved it.
And for the first time, didn't feel the need to post it.