(Seerat's POV)
The night before an exam always hits differently.
It was like the air itself got heavier — like even breathing took effort. My notes were spread around me like a force field, pens uncapped and highlighters bleeding out their fluorescent stress across pages that now blurred into each other.
I sat cross-legged on the floor of my hostel room, hoodie sleeves pushed to my elbows, hair scraped up in the messiest bun it had ever been. My phone was beside me, face down, ignored. I hadn't eaten since that rushed coffee and a biscuit at noon, but my stomach was too tangled to care.
This exam mattered.
Everything mattered.
I hated how much it did.
A part of me — the rational part — knew I was spiraling. But the other part, the louder one, whispered, If you don't do well, everyone will know. You don't belong here.
That voice was persistent. Familiar.
I always feel like I'm too much or not enough. Never just… right.
My eyes burned. I blinked them clear and tried to focus on the same line I'd been re-reading for ten minutes.
Then, my phone buzzed.
Reluctantly, I flipped it over. Two notifications.
One from Dev, sent ten minutes ago:
Dev: Hope you're surviving the night-before madness. If you wanna trade notes later, I'm around.
The second, newer one, stopped me cold.
Irshad: Come downstairs. Just for five minutes.
Just five minutes.
I stared at the screen, thumb hovering.
I should have ignored it. I had too much to do. Too much riding on tomorrow.
But I stood anyway.
I straightened the hem of my oversized t-shirt, slipped into my slippers, and padded quietly down the stairs, the hallway dim with late-night silence.
I found him standing just outside the gate — grey t-shirt, hair tousled like he'd run his hands through it too many times. He looked tired but solid, like some unshakable thing that didn't mind being leaned on.
In his hand, he held a little paper bag.
He looked up when he saw me, eyes catching the low streetlight like they'd been waiting.
"You came," he said.
"You said five minutes."
He held up the bag. "I brought burgers. And that mango Frooti thing you pretend not to like but always steal from Ali."
I blinked. "You—how did you—"
"I pay attention."
And just like that, some of the tension around my spine began to ease.
He handed me the bag, and we walked.
No questions. No explanations.
We ended up on the roof — our roof.
The air was cooler up here, the city quieter in that far-off hum sort of way.
We sat against the wall, legs stretched out, the food between us.
"You haven't eaten, have you?" he asked.
"No."
He nodded, like that confirmed something he'd already known.
"Ali would've come," he added, unwrapping a burger and handing it to me. "But he's passed out at the apartment. Dead to the world. He's already declared himself emotionally unfit for this exam."
That made me smile. "Sounds about right."
We ate in silence for a minute.
It wasn't awkward. It was... steady. Like finding a rhythm you didn't know you were looking for.
Irshad glanced at me sideways. "You okay?"
I hesitated. Then: "Not really."
He didn't push. Just waited.
"It's stupid," I finally said, "but I start thinking if I don't do well, I'll prove that I'm unworthy— that I don't belong here. That I got in because someone made a mistake."
He was quiet, listening.
"I always feel like I'm either too much or not enough. Never just… right." I let out a breath, surprised at myself. "Sorry. That was a lot."
"Not too much," he said softly. "Not even close."
The words sat there between us for a moment, warm and certain.
I looked away, blinking fast.
Then, because I couldn't sit in that softness too long, I said, "What about you? You have an exam tomorrow too, right?"
He snorted. "Yup. The ever-glamorous world of criminal procedure. Honestly, I was trying to revise when Ali started doing interpretive dance to explain IPC sections. I figured that was my cue to leave."
I laughed — really laughed — and Irshad looked absurdly proud of himself.
"You should've seen him," he continued. "He tried to act out 'mens rea' by dramatically holding his chest and whispering 'intent' at the ceiling like he was summoning spirits."
I choked on my Frooti. "Stop. That's cursed."
"Oh, it gets worse. He used the broom like a knight's staff, dramatically swishing it through the air as he 'summoned' the spirit of mens rea. I honestly didn't know whether to be impressed or concerned."
We both dissolved into laughter then, the kind that leaves your stomach sore and your heart a little lighter.
I leaned my head back against the wall and looked up. The stars weren't especially bright tonight, but I could see a few peeking through.
Irshad's voice came quiet. "Seerat, you belong here. No question. You care more than most people even try to—and that doesn't make you weak. It makes you terrifyingly brave."
I blinked, a tightness in my throat easing just a little. His words felt like the kind of thing I'd been starving for but never knew how to ask for. I looked down at my hands, suddenly aware of how clenched they'd been, and let out a shaky breath.
"Thanks," I said, voice barely above a whisper.
He smiled, and it reached his eyes.
I wasn't thinking about tomorrow anymore. Not in the same way.
The pressure hadn't disappeared — but it felt shared now, carried between us like something I didn't have to shoulder alone.
And maybe that was enough.
We didn't leave right away.
What was supposed to be five minutes stretched into ten, then twenty. Somehow, we were still sitting there, legs stretched out, shoulders occasionally bumping like the space between us had shrunk without either of us realising it.
"I swear," I said, shaking my head, "if I fail this paper, I'm blaming Maslow."
Irshad raised an eyebrow. "The hierarchy guy?"
"Yeah. I had a dream last night that he was chasing me around campus, yelling about self-actualization. I woke up sweating."
He burst out laughing. "You sure it wasn't your subconscious telling you to chill?"
I gave him a look. "My subconscious has anxiety. It's not helpful."
He huffed a laugh. "Mine told me to get a grip and go for a walk. I told it to shut up and took a nap instead. Still spiraling, just well-rested."
I grinned. "You sound like Ali now."
"Oh, speaking of him — he sleep-ordered Chinese last week. Didn't even remember until the guy called to say he was outside."
"What did he do?"
"Stumbled out barefoot, paid in crumpled tens, and bowed like he was accepting an Oscar. The delivery guy looked genuinely concerned for his wellbeing."
I laughed. "Did he eat it?"
"He inhaled half the order and then tried to feed a dumpling to the houseplant. Claimed it 'looked hungry.'"
We both laughed, the kind that shakes something loose inside your chest. The kind that reminded me I was still human — not just a brain being dragged toward a deadline.
Eventually, the food was gone, and so was the weight that had been pressing down on my shoulders all evening.
I still had to study. Still had pages to revise.
But I wasn't spiraling anymore.
I felt… steadier. Calmer. Even a little more prepared — like my brain could finally breathe.
I hadn't planned to be here for long.
But I wasn't watching the clock anymore.
I wasn't sure what this was between us — what it meant or where it was going.
I just knew I trusted him.
Completely.
And as I sat there with him, under a sky that looked a little clearer than before, I realized something else:
The five minutes he'd promised had stretched into something much longer.
And I didn't regret a single second of it.
***
The sun hit like a spotlight the moment I stepped out of the exam hall.
For a second, I just stood there, blinking into the brightness, backpack half-zipped, breath catching in my throat — and then releasing all at once.
Done.
It felt unreal. Like coming up for air after weeks underwater.
The campus buzzed with that specific brand of post-exam delirium — laughter spilling in waves, people flopping dramatically on the nearest patch of grass, someone yelling about never touching a textbook again. The smell of chaat and samosas drifted in from the gate, and my stomach growled on cue.
I hadn't realized how burnt out I was until now. Like my brain had been wrapped in cling film, and someone had finally peeled it off.
"SEERAT!"
I turned just in time to see Ali stagger out of the building like a soldier returning from war. His shirt was untucked, hair sticking up in places it had no business sticking up, and he was clutching his chest with one hand like he'd barely survived.
"I am," he gasped, "a shell of a man."
I burst out laughing. "You studied for exactly four hours total."
"Three and a half," he corrected proudly. "And two of those were spent watching YouTube explainers at double speed. Did you know this economy runs on vibes? So do my grades."
"You're ridiculous."
"And yet," he said, pointing a finger in the air, "I will still outscore you. Because intelligence, darling, cannot be crammed. It must be cultivated."
Behind him, Irshad walked out, rolling his eyes so hard I could practically hear it.
"Here we go again," Irshad muttered, falling into step beside me. "This same man will be crying when we receive our results."
Ali gasped, scandalized. "Excuse you. I process emotions. With range and flair."
"Sure," Irshad said dryly. "Just don't try to process them into the group chat at 3 AM again."
I snorted. "You mean the voice note where he sang a breakup ballad to his calculator?"
Ali held up a finger. "That calculator betrayed me. The trauma was real."
Irshad just smirked, eyes glinting.
The three of us wandered toward the shaded courtyard, the sun glinting off windows and polished stone, the air electric with freedom.
"So," I said, stretching my arms overhead, the sun warm on my face, "what now?"
"Burn our notes," Irshad offered, like it was the only logical step.
"Build a ceremonial bonfire," Ali added, eyes already dramatic. "I'll bring the marshmallows. And the playlist."
I shook my head, half-laughing. "We still have more semesters to survive, remember?"
I snorted. "Guys, please. We still have, like, a thousand semesters to go."
"Exactly," Ali said solemnly. "Better to set the tone early."
"Anyway," he said, clapping his hands once. "Now that we're all officially free — and emotionally unstable — I have an announcement."
We stopped walking.
He turned to face us, arms wide like a magician revealing his grand finale. "The music club," he said, pausing for effect, "is going for dinner tonight. And not just any dinner. Fancy dinner."
Irshad raised an eyebrow. "Define fancy."
"Minimum: shirts with collars," Ali said seriously. "Maximum: dress like your LinkedIn depends on it. We are not stepping out looking like exam zombies."
"No hoodies?" I asked, pretending to be horrified.
"Absolutely no hoodies!" Ali shot back. "I want shine. I want polish. I want grooming attempts. At least one hair product."
Irshad and I exchanged a look, both of us barely holding in our laughter.
"Why do I feel like this is more about you than the club?" Irshad asked.
Ali did a mock bow. "Because you are wise, my friend. Now go hydrate, rest, exfoliate—whatever it is people do before a glow-up. Tonight, we dine with dignity, darlings!"
He flounced off toward the college gates, halted dramatically in front of a group of bewildered freshers, pointed at their feet, and declared, "Absolutely no crocs at dinner — we have standards, people!" Then, without missing a beat, he spun on his heel, whipped out his phone, probably to make reservations or harass people about their outfits.
Irshad and I exchanged a look. I couldn't help it — I started laughing again.
Irshad shook his head fondly. "He's a menace."
"A stylish menace," I said, grinning. "With unshakable confidence."
"And questionable economics theories," Irshad muttered.
We walked on, unhurried. The chaos swirled around us — friends shouting plans, someone breaking into a dance number near the canteen.
For the first time in weeks, the day felt like ours again — wide open, sunlit, and waiting.